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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29983440">Theory of Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daxcine78/pseuds/Daxcine78'>Daxcine78</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Theory of Time [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anger, Angst, Brotherhood, Childhood Trauma, Dark Past, Emotionally Repressed, Fantasy, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loss, Magic, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Mythical Beings &amp; Creatures, Time Skips, Time Travel, Torture, War, Worldbuilding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:40:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29983440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daxcine78/pseuds/Daxcine78</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On the practical examination that concludes their education at Ardenhall, Kylri Arkenskane and Scior Commenstance recover a rather unassuming artifact: three words of an archaic language on a scroll. </p><p>Who knew that a little piece of parchment could cause so much damage?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Non-Human Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Theory of Time [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Scior</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A wooden bowl soared through the air, directed at Scior Commenstance’s head. He lifted his blade to protect his face and directed a kick at the height of his knee. His foot contacted something he couldn’t see, and he nearly toppled over backward.</p><p> </p><p>“SHIT!” he screamed.</p><p> </p><p>Kylri Arkenskane directed a brief and blackening glance at Scior and returned his attention to the electric blue rune he was hastily sketching in the air with his left hand. His right fingers splayed over the pages of a leather-bound book to keep the pages from fluttering. “Do you <em>mind</em>?” he snapped, raising his voice in order to be heard.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Scior asked breathlessly. “I’m doing the best I can!”</p><p> </p><p>“You might consider shutting up,” Kylri replied acidly. He raked his left fingertips through his hair, leaving a bright streak of blue in his almost-black locks. “I’m trying to focus, and you know I have the power to kill us both.”</p><p> </p><p>“So long as you take the ghost trolls with you,” Scior grumbled under his breath. A set of invisible claws tore four thin gashes between his knee and his ankle. “SON OF A BITCH!”</p><p> </p><p>“What did I just say?” Kylri howled, exasperated.</p><p> </p><p>Scior ducked another flying bowl (pottery, this time) and threw a “Sorry,” over his shoulder. He dropped into a crouch and swung his sword in a wide arc. Black blood materialized and clung to his torn trousers. It mixed with his own, creating a scalding sensation that made him faintly dizzy.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you <em>please</em> hurry it up a bit?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Kylri said tersely, never looking away from his rune. “Can’t rush it. The makira needs time to...” he trailed off, sticking his tongue to his lower lip. His bright, mismatched eyes flicked to the book under his right hand, scouring the page. He could not miscalculate a single angle, or miss a single detail.</p><p> </p><p>A flicker of movement caught Scior’s attention. He lunged forward, but missed and nearly sprawled on his face. Kylri yelped and pitched forward as the transparent creature latched onto his upper back. “Scior!” he yelped.</p><p> </p><p>Scior slashed his blade in a line parallel to Kylri’s back, contacting the creature and sending it shrieking and flying across the room. Fourteen little claw marks bled into the blue linen on Kylri’s shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Kylri gasped, returning immediately to his rune.</p><p> </p><p>“How much more do you have to do?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri drew a sharp-edged line in the air. “One more!”</p><p> </p><p>“HURRY UP!”</p><p> </p><p>“Done!” Kylri extended his arm through the rune, closed his fist and drew his arm back. The rune glowed blindingly and a collective shriek built and faded, echoing into silence. Kylri hunched forward, pale and panting.</p><p> </p><p>Scior stood back, also fighting for his breath. “Well done, Kylri.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not...dreadful, yourself,” Kylri said, in a tone that suggested Scior’s performance was anything but<em> well done</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Scior’s dark brows contracted in disbelief. “You aren’t mad at me.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri didn’t look at him, instead closing his book with a faint snap and raking his fingers through his hair again. The blue streak stayed stubbornly in place. “Says who?” he muttered.</p><p> </p><p>“Kylri.”</p><p> </p><p>“Never do that again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do what?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri shot to his feet. The effect was somewhat dampened when he paused, swaying, before pointing directly at Scior’s face. “<em>That</em>,” he spat. He pulled his face into an over-confident smirk and said, in an unflattering impression of Scior’s voice, <em>“Well done, Kylri.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“I meant it as a compliment,” Scior said, “you know that.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri’s eyes rolled. “This is not a joke, Scior,” he hissed. “If either of us <em>fuck this up…</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t,” Scior promised, pressing a hand to his heart. “I don’t understand what you’re so upset about.”</p><p> </p><p>“I really could have killed us both,” Kylri said, and the air seemed to crackle with static electricity. “Dead! Searing, miserable agony, and then death. Does that not terrify you?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior hesitated. At eighteen, Kylri was a quiet, ambitious youth, but he was also strikingly morbid at times. “Sure,” he said, “but you did fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri snorted indelicately. “Fine,” he repeated.</p><p> </p><p>“To be fair, you said I was<em> not dreadful</em>,” Scior reminded him.</p><p> </p><p>That brought a rare smile to Kylri’s face. “I suppose I did. Shall we move on?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior nodded with feigned enthusiasm. “Right. How’s your back?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri shrugged, and Scior noted the fact that only his right shoulder moved. “Stings a bit.” He looked Scior up and down, his grim smile giving way to poorly veiled horror. “Oh, my gods, your <em>leg</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior looked down. The scratches had begun to swell, but it didn’t look as bad as Kylri’s horror would suggest. He kicked his leg aimlessly. “It’s fine,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t <em>look</em> fine,” Kylri said. He looked vaguely nauseous. “I mean, I’m no Physician, but… Val’s gonna have both of our asses.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not if we get what we came for.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri cast a dubious sidelong glance at Scior. "Are we talking about the same Valantine? Even if we get what we came for, <em>Val's gonna have both our asses.</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Scior hated to admit that he agreed, so he straightened his auburn leather vest and gestured further down the corridor. "After you."</p><p> </p><p>Kylri's eyebrows shifted into a momentary, suspicious frown before he tilted his chin up and, with as much false confidence as he could muster, strode in the direction Scior had pointed.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“And it’s a trap,” Scior sighed, glaring at the dusty bootprints stamped onto the stone floor of the corridor.  “Trust the Lord Master to send us into a trap.”</p><p> </p><p>"Keep walking," Kylri interrupted, his voice low and steady. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, that's likely," Scior muttered darkly. "Kylri…"</p><p> </p><p>"Come on, Scior. <em> Keep walking. </em>"</p><p> </p><p>"They're going to kill us."</p><p> </p><p>"They wouldn't dream of stealing Valantine's right to rip us apart. Come on, I have a plan."</p><p> </p><p>They continued along the narrow corridor, shoulder to shoulder.  After a few paces, the sconces on the wall were empty, leaving Kylri’s faintly glowing hands as the only source of light.  They kept a modest pace, but even that was enough to send jolts of pain up and down Scior’s leg.  He gritted his teeth, trying not to make a sound that would indicate that he was in pain.  Kylri would try to help, and that was not a risk he was willing to take.  He grinned into the dark.  </p><p> </p><p>After several long minutes of silence and shadows, a faint yellow glow appeared at the end of the hallway. Heartened by the light, Kylri quickened his pace.  Scior hobbled a couple steps, trying to keep up.  </p><p> </p><p>Hands were on them the second they entered the light-drenched room.  It was predictable, of course, but Scior still drowned a yelp of surprise in a furious oath.  He squirmed like a greased ferret, but their hands were strong, and they disarmed him with embarrassing ease.  They wrestled his arms behind his back and forced him to his knees.</p><p> </p><p>A tall, sallow-faced man stood from the table in the center of the room, surveying Scior with languid distaste.  He smiled, reaching out a hand to cradle Scior’s chin.  “Spirited, isn’t he?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior pitched his head back, trying to put as much distance as he could between the man’s hand and his face.  In the act, he caught sight of Kylri, still pale-faced, sagging between two of the tall man’s guards with all the vigor of a dead rabbit. </p><p> </p><p>The man followed his gaze to Kylri, and frowned.  He stared for a long moment before gesturing to the iron-framed bed in the corner.  He seemed to be the captain; the guards obeyed, dragging Kylri and Scior over to the bed and tying them to the footboard with a length of heavy rope.</p><p> </p><p>“Start with your names,” the captain advised. </p><p> </p><p>“Sylvan,” Kylri piped up.  He tipped his head toward Scior.  “Magnus.”</p><p> </p><p>The captain threw him a strange look.  “You’re lying,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>Kylri returned the strange expression.  “Maybe I am,” he said.  </p><p> </p><p>The captain slapped Kylri across the mouth.   “Shut up,” he hissed. “I think you're too mouthy. What say you...” he continued slowly, drawing his knife from his belt and lining it up with Kylri’s lower lip, “I cut out your tongue?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri's throat moved. Keeping his fair lips squeezed shut, he shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“That's what I thought,” the man said bitterly, returning his knife to its sheath. Then he slapped Kylri again. Kylri's handsome, straight jaw shifted with the force of the strike. He squeaked. His hands jerked behind his back, involuntarily, as if they would jump to cradle his face. The man snorted and turned away, returning to the small table. </p><p> </p><p>Kylri’s facade burned visibly. Scior chewed his lip. <em> Keep it down, </em> he thought fiercely. There were many ways this could go wrong. This situation required, above all else, Kylri’s level head.</p><p> </p><p>Scior turned his head, just slightly, desperate to catch Kylri’s attention. Fortunately, the movement was enough to draw Kylri’s eyes, but not the eyes of their captors. <em> Calm down. </em> He formed the words with his lips but without his voice. <em> You have to get us out of this. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Hey.” One of the guards that was sitting at the table stood up and strode purposefully toward them. “Don’t talk. Huh? Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll break your jaw, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Break his jaw? Kylri’s jaw was broken, then. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kylri experimentally opening and closing his teeth. He shook his head minutely, but Scior saw. Over the years of their friendship, they had grown accustomed to interpreting the nuances and subtleties of each other’s expressions. Kylri’s jaw wasn’t broken after all. The guard’s threat suddenly felt less daunting.</p><p> </p><p>As the guard turned away, Kylri leaned slightly toward Scior, just close enough that the fabric of their shirt shoulders brushed. It was a subtle gesture, but it was reassuring to know Kylri held both of their lives in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>A needle of pain dug into Scior’s lower back, seemingly aimed upward toward his kidney. By the time the jolt had passed directly through him, it had faded to a familiar electrical shock. Beside him, Kylri gasped. There was a moment in which nothing happened. Then, another spark of electricity, less intense this time, and the ropes fell away from Scior’s wrists. He released the breath he had been holding as his arms fell casually to his sides.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!”</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell,” the captain of the guard began flatly, “do you think you are doing?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior lifted his palms. “Escaping, I imagine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cut the attitude,” Kylri hissed, shaking his hands in front of him in an attempt to reintroduce blood to his fingertips. He groaned, rubbing his clean-shaven jaw. “Let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I don’t think so,” the captain snarled. At a flick of his fingers, two of the guards left their card game at the table and moved to the door.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Scior said, turning dramatically to Kylri. “They’re guarding the door. I suppose we really are trapped here now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cut the theatrics,” Kylri mumbled around his swelling jaw.</p><p> </p><p>Scior sighed. “Look, if it can be avoided, we’d rather not kill you. It’s messy. Just let us walk out with the chest on the table, and we’ll be on our way. You’ll never see or hear of us again.”</p><p> </p><p>“You think you could kill us? It may have escaped your notice, but you are unarmed. We are not.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior twisted his lips pensively. “Is that a no?”</p><p> </p><p>“Take a guess. You’re <em> unarmed </em>, Magnus.”</p><p> </p><p>“Never stopped me before,” he said, and dove toward the soldier on his right.  The soldier swung his sword, but Scior ducked under it and brought his elbow up under the soldier’s with enough force to break it.  He caught the man’s sword as it fell, and performed a tidy half-turn, pointing the tip of the sword toward the remaining four soldiers and the captain.  The guards lurched into action while the captain retreated to the table to guard the chest.</p><p> </p><p>A sword point grazed past the tip of Scior’s nose. “Help!” he yelped.</p><p> </p><p>Kylri lurched, drawn out of his trance. His hands moved instinctively, sketching a simple rune. He snatched it out of the air and began compressing it in his fist. “Hold your breath.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior gasped a mouthful of thinning air, casting a momentary glare at Kylri, who shrugged apologetically and squeezed the rune tighter. The soldiers slowed down and eventually stopped, blinking like they forgot what they were doing. Then, one by one, they dropped to the floor, clutching violently at their throats, their mouths wide open like fish out of water. Scior leaned forward, planting his hands on his knees and throwing Kylri a desperate glance. Kylri gave the rune a final wring before releasing it. The soldiers on the floor stopped twitching.</p><p> </p><p>Scior gasped several deep breaths, savoring the sensation of his lungs filling. His eyes turned to the floor. “You didn’t…”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri sat down abruptly, buckling like a severed marionette. “Kill them? No.” He took a deep breath, wheezing slightly. “They’ll be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior frowned. “Will you?” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you stand?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri grimaced and pushed himself to his knees. He paled very suddenly and dropped forward onto his hands as he vomited. Scior took an unwilling step backward and looked away, trying to hide his horror. </p><p> </p><p>“You okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be fine. Just drained. Ow, gods.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you stand now?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri snorted, pushing himself back up to his knees. “Give me a <em> minute, </em> Scior. Get the chest. They’ll be waking up soon.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior collected his own sword and Kylri’s book, tucking both under one arm and the chest under the other. By the time he returned to Kylri, the Mage was standing, once again running his hand through his hair. The blue glow was fading.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” he said, sliding his book out from under Scior’s arm. “Got everything?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior shrugged, hefting the sword he had taken from the soldier. “What do you think? Should I give it back?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri shrugged back. “I don’t imagine he’ll miss it too much.” Scior grinned, belting his own sword back to his waist.</p><p> </p><p>One of the soldiers at Scior’s feet stirred. He stepped back in disgust, feeling it pull at his features. “Let’s get out of here.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope this was enough to catch people's attention?</p><p>Please feel free to leave comments.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Scior</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That was certainly an experience,” Scior said as they stepped out into the sunlight.  He cast a sour glance toward the crumbling tower behind them.  The unsuspecting ruins stared back, taunting him with the reminder that it had a fully functioning subfloor, full of ghost trolls and soldiers, most likely waking up by now.</p><p> </p><p>Kylri hummed his agreement, steadying himself of the remains of the walls as he picked his way over to the crevice where they had stored their bags. </p><p> </p><p>“Is your jaw bad?” Scior asked hesitantly.  </p><p> </p><p>Dragging his satchel from the nook, Kylri shrugged noncommittally.  Scior noted the lack of verbal communication and silently worried just a little more.  </p><p> </p><p>“We should move,” he said, glancing at the sky.  The sun was halfway through its descent. “If you’re feeling up to it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Kylri said, hardly moving his mouth.  They had to move, whether or not he was feeling up to it.  He glanced at Scior’s leg and winced, tugging Scior’s bag from the crevice as well.</p><p> </p><p>Scior glanced down as well.  The swelling showed no signs of slowing down, and the edges of the lacerations were turning an ugly shade of purple.  At least there wasn’t much blood.  He didn’t need Kylri vomiting again, or worse, fainting.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll wrap it when we stop for the night.”  He accepted his bag from Kylri and untied the ancient mule from a dead tree that jutted out of the ruins. They hadn’t bothered to unhitch her from the cart when they went into the basement.  She didn’t seem to mind.  Scior paced around her, rearranging the reins and checking the harness, and she didn’t move.</p><p> </p><p>Kylri hefted his bag into the cart, glancing at the mule with a combination of derision and concern. It was clear enough that he didn’t believe the mule would survive long enough to get them back to Ardenhall. </p><p> </p><p>“She’ll get us at least halfway before nightfall,” Scior said brightly.  “If we start early enough in the morning, we can be back to Ardenhall just after breakfast.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri nodded, lacking all evidence of enthusiasm.  Perhaps it was the thought of eating breakfast with his sore jaw.  He clambered into the wagon.  “Drive,” he mumbled, slouching until he could tip his head back against the cart wall.</p><p> </p><p>Scior mounted the bench that served as a driver’s seat and took the reins.  </p><p> </p><p>The drive was silent, for the most part.  Scior tried to whistle the edge of the tune stuck in his head, but Kylri’s gravitational silence sucked the joy from the act and he ceased his attempts.  Kylri was not an exceptional conversationalist on the best of days, and being slapped didn’t change that for the better.</p><p> </p><p>They made less progress than Scior had hoped, but the sun bit the horizon and he steered the cart off the trail.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll make camp here,” he said, leaping off the driver’s bench.  He thought, at first, that Kylri was already asleep, but then he noticed the slight movement of Kylri’s fingers, caressing the lid of the chest.  “Are you alive?” he asked.  </p><p> </p><p>“No,” Kylri replied, but his eyes snapped open and he sat up.  A muted groan strangled itself out of him.  He slithered out of the wagon, dragging his satchel behind him.  He set to work building a small fire while Scior cared for the mule and sorted out their rations.  </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Later that night, as they sat mutely around the smouldering remains of their cookfire, Kylri said suddenly, “You can sing.  If you like.”</p><p> </p><p>Startled from his thoughts, Scior blinked stupidly at him.  “Sing?” he repeated.  </p><p> </p><p>Kylri combed his fingers through his hair.  “Mm-hm,” he said.  “You were whistling earlier.  Anything you like.  I don’t mind.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior frowned, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip.  “I don’t know what I would sing,” he excused weakly.  “You could sing with me, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri laughed soundlessly, leaning back until he was staring up at the star-spattered sky.  “And you know I can’t sing.”</p><p> </p><p>“You <em> don’t </em> sing,” Scior corrected.  “You used to.”</p><p> </p><p>“Charlie Kellrin said I sound like a choking cat,” Kylri mused.  “And he’s not even a little bit wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior felt himself stiffen at the mention of Charlie Kellrin.  “Why would you give a damn what Kellrin thinks?  Just because he’s…” he trailed off, glancing back at Kylri.  “He’s jealous,” he finished in a conspiratorial whisper.</p><p> </p><p>Kylri laughed again, genuinely this time.  It was a short burst of good humor, stalled by a wince.  He gingerly touched the space in front of his ear.  </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Scior said.  “I didn’t mean to…”</p><p> </p><p>“What for?”  Kylri interrupted.  “Sing something.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior closed his eyes and thought for a moment.  “I only remember the one verse,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s alright,” Kylri said.  </p><p> </p><p>Anol shalom</p><p>Anol sheh lay konnud de ne um (shaddai)</p><p>Flavum</p><p>Nom de leesh</p><p>Ham de nam um das</p><p>La um de</p><p>Flavne...</p><p>We de ze zu bu</p><p>We de sooo a ru</p><p>Un va-a pesh a lay</p><p>Un vi-I bee</p><p>Un da la pech ni sa</p><p>Un di-I lay na day</p><p>Un ma la pech a nay</p><p>Mee di nu ku</p><p> </p><p>He trailed off into silence, trying to remember the next part of the melody.  When he glanced back at Kylri, he was greeted with the even breaths of sleep.  Half-smiling, he pulled his cloak closer around him.  He would wake Kylri for the second watch, but it was hours before then.  Hours to remember the next part of the song.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The song is Now We Are Free.  It is most commonly known because of its part in the movie Gladiator.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Kylri</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ardenhall was nestled deep in the foothills of Windemoor, near the border of the neighbouring country of Ganewel. The small, lush valley in which it resided was near to full with the Main Hall and its outbuildings, and it spilled down into what was known as The Flats, a rich green plain that plateaued for miles before sinking into the wetlands that preceded the sea. </p><p> </p><p>They crested the hill and gazed down on the sunbaked roof tiles. The precise shade of rust red turned Kylri’s stomach. There was one place he had seen in the entirety of his life that sported that color of tile. It was a hue that required him to sacrifice his freedom to the ravenous beast of routine. </p><p> </p><p>Ardenhall supported what was considered “practical education,” sorting its students into one of five Classes: Warrior, Mage, Wrangler, Marksman or Physician. By his life, Kylri would much rather have died on the streets than be practically educated as a Mage.  He was supposed to believe he was lucky to have the gift for it.  But a glance at his partner reminded him that Ardenhall couldn’t be all bad if it contained people like Scior.</p><p> </p><p>“Home, sweet home,” Scior said, a suggestion of relief underlining his voice. </p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” Kylri replied. “Let’s get the artifact to the Masters and pay a visit to Valantine.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>James Valantine looked them up and down, his lips twisted in a carving of dissatisfaction. He turned Kylri’s head both ways, and clicked his tongue. Shaking his head, he paced a tight circle around Kylri and took note of the punctures on his shoulder. Then he turned to Scior and his disapproving gaze shifted subtly. He took a knee to inspect the injury, then regained his feet and snapped his fingers, gesturing to a pair of empty beds. They sat on the edges, exchanging puzzled glances. Valantine was rarely so silent, or so distant. </p><p> </p><p>Valantine unlaced his leather Physician’s case and withdrew a pair of scissors.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Scior joked.</p><p> </p><p>Valantine glared and lifted Scior’s leg onto the bed. Without a moment of hesitation, he began hacking mercilessly at the leg of Scior’s trousers. When the injury was sufficiently exposed, he peeled back the severed edges of the brown linen and, uncorking the bottle with his teeth, poured a generous measure of unnamed alcohol over the wound.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” Scior hissed through his teeth. “Damn it, Val, that hurts!”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine turned an acidic glare on Scior. “I could let it rot and fall off.”</p><p> </p><p>“It can’t be <em> that </em>bad.”</p><p> </p><p>“It is,” Valantine assured him. “You’re lucky it isn’t already festering. Do you <em> know </em> how stupid you two are? Do you know how much I <em> worry </em> when you’re gone? Every time you go, <em> without fail, </em> you return somewhat beaten and damaged and I’m so <em> sick </em> of seeing you bleed. Remember last time? Kylri, bleeding out, <em> bleeding right out, </em> through his mouth. How do you manage that? And that one time, Scior had a piece of wood through his spleen. <em> I had to stitch your spleen! </em> I was fourteen! I could go on and on. You take the most abysmally stupid risks. I can’t keep watching you two self-destruct.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri clenched his teeth to stifle a shudder. With Valantine’s reminder, he could almost taste the iron undertones burning his tongue. The roof of his mouth lurched involuntarily. A guilty sensation curled up in the depth of his stomach as he remembered watching the moon swell and deflate from his infirmary bed and Valantine’s thin face by lamplight, checking on him every night, reminding him to sleep. His affection for Valantine suddenly expanded. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, Val. Really.”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” Valantine said, but his mood lightened considerably as he wrapped a clean white bandage around Scior’s calf. </p><p> </p><p>He bandaged Kylri’s shoulder after a similar cleaning, inspected his jaw (“Not broken,” he had confirmed), then sighed and sat on the cot beside Kylri. “So. Did you pass?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior shrugged.  “They haven’t told us yet.  We brought home a locked chest, but none of the guards had keys on them.  It’s possible that we didn’t even get the right chest.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri threw Scior a withering glance.  “Of course we did.  You’re supposed to be the optimistic one.”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine snapped his fingers.  “Stop talking,” he commanded.  Despite having only sixteen years of experience, he had perfected the art of ordering about people older than himself.  As far as Kylri could tell, he was born to be in charge.  Not, perhaps, to the same extent as Scior, but nonetheless, James Valantine was a natural leader.</p><p> </p><p>Kylri seemed to have problems with authority.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re supposed to be resting your jaw,” Valantine continued.  “Try to avoid speaking and eating anything too tough.  If you do that, you should be fine by tomorrow morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“What counts as ‘too tough?’” Scior asked.</p><p> </p><p>Valantine’s list was interrupted by the arrival of Physician Master Coltz.  Trailing the lingering scent of books and blood, he swept up on their conversation like a tidal wave-- an impressive skill for a man no more than average in height.  He was in his late fifties, and his voice was loud enough to stop the dead on their way to the underworld.  Valantine leapt to his feet and busied himself with the laces of his bag.</p><p> </p><p>“Well done, boys,” he boomed.  “The artifact is secured.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you open it?” Kylri asked.  It occurred to him that he sounded strangely hungry.  Scior shot him a peculiar look.  Valantine also glared at him, accompanying the look with a <em> shut up </em> gesture.  </p><p> </p><p>Master Coltz smiled a grandfatherly smile that was too old for his face. “Not yet. Master Reoghn wondered if you would like the honor of trying first, Novice Arkenskane.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri rose halfway to his feet. “I...is this a real offer? I’m...so honored.”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop opening your mouth, or I will wire it shut,” Valantine said. He shared a look with Scior that suggested he was only half joking and that he might need Scior’s help holding Kylri down.</p><p> </p><p>“Novice Commenstance will accompany you.  Call it <em> bonus points </em>, if you will.  You will receive your exam results when you are finished.  In the meantime, the two of you have earned a day off.  Enjoy it while it lasts.  There are rarely such days when you are a Primary, and certainly no such days if you become Masters.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri opened his mouth to respond, but he was silenced by the sourness in Valantine’s dark eyes and he nodded instead.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, sir,” Scior said, inclining his head in a passable imitation of a bow.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, Novice Valantine, let’s see your work here. What injuries were sustained?”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine turned on the spot to face the Physician Master, his hands folded behind his back. Kylri could see his nails digging into the skin of his palms. “Novice Commenstance suffered four small gashes between the ankle and knee of his left leg, sir. Novice Arkenskane sustained fourteen small punctures to the back of his left shoulder and a misaligned jaw, probably from being slapped in the face, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>“And the punctures and the gashes, what are they from?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ghost trolls,” Scior said sourly.</p><p> </p><p>“Ghost trolls, sir,” Valantine repeated, not looking away from Master Coltz. </p><p> </p><p>“And what courses of action did you take, Novice Valantine?”</p><p> </p><p>“I cleaned the gashes and punctures with alcohol, sir, and bandaged them. With gentle pressure, I realigned K...Novice Arkenskane’s jaw and gave him orders not to use it, orders he has thus far ignored entirely. Sir.”</p><p> </p><p>“No stitches required on the gashes?”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine swallowed. “Uh, no, sir. I didn’t think it was necessary.”</p><p> </p><p>“Very well. Return to work, Novice Valantine.” He delivered a faintly affectionate cuff to the back of Valantine’s head as he stood. “Always apply stitches if it can be considered a gash.” He turned to leave, but stopped. “And Arkenskane? Novice Valantine is right. Keep your mouth closed.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In case it isn't clear, Ardenhall's education has two levels: Novice, and then Primary.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Kylri</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Hall of Masters was smaller than either of them had expected. A rectangular table sat in the middle of the chamber, surrounded by six wooden chairs. Each chair was uniquely carved up the high backs and the arms. Aside from the table and the chairs, the room was plain. Flecks of dust danced around Lord Master Ashdown, who stood by the arched windows to the right, overlooking the main courtyard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Standing behind one of the chairs on the left was Mage Master Reoghn.  He was a serious man, and he had evidently climbed the social hierarchy by merit of his skills and not by personality.  As they entered, he directed a caustic smile at them and gestured to the table.  “Sit, gentlemen.  Master Delcry will be joining us shortly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior strode easily to the far end of the table and sprawled into the chair.  Kylri paused, glancing at each chair before selecting one across the corner of the table from Scior.  It was carved with swords, which was indication enough that it belonged to the Warrior Master.  The chest they had recovered the two days previous sat unassumingly between them.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Curious choice of seating, Novice Commenstance,” Lord Master Ashdown mused. His brows arched delicately. The expression suited his thin face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s more comfortable than I was expecting. Never thought wooden chairs would be comfortable,” Scior replied casually, then added, “sir,” as if it came as an afterthought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know who sits there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior twisted around to look at the carvings of vines and dragons that accented the smooth wood. Very slowly, he blanched and turned back to the Lord Master. “You, sir?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very good,” he replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I...I can move, sir, if…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Lord Master waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t trouble yourself. It is merely a chair.” He glided to the other end of the table and lowered himself into the empty chair there.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri combed his fingers through his hair and folded his hands in front of him.  “So,” he began timidly.  “The artifact.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master Reoghn finally deigned to sit, doing so with a great amount of dignity.  His chair was carved with fire.  “I don’t suppose we have to wait for Delcry,” he agreed, looking to the Lord Master for confirmation, which was given in the form of a single nod.  “I don’t believe he would have much interest in the process of it.  Now, Novice Arkenskane.  What can you tell me about this chest?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri’s fingers twitched.  He wanted to touch it, to feel the chaste energy under the surface of the wood.  He didn’t, choosing instead to go by memory.  It seemed like it would be more impressive, and he was desperate to pass the examination.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s locked,” he began.  “But it’s also been...magicked.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior frowned.  “Every time I use the term ‘magic,’ you correct me.  I thought it was makira.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master Reoghn rolled his eyes, but he gestured to Kylri to explain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri thought for a moment, puzzling out the best way to explain.  “I wouldn’t correct you if you used it right,” he began.  “I’m sure you know that there are many who believe that makira is the breath of the Magic Goddess Cjevha, given to her chosen Mages. Some say that's superstition.  Either way, you have it or you don’t.  It’s unique to each user, of course, which is why it appears as different colors for different users.”  Seeing Scior’s unsatisfied expression, he shook his head.  “I don’t know how to explain it.  It… Magic is what I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and makira is what I have, what I use.  But once it’s disconnected from the Mage and linked to an object like this chest, it’s magic again.  Does that make sense?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sort of,” Scior said.  His face made it plain that it did not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>sort of</span>
  </em>
  <span> make sense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri huffed, exasperated.  “What doesn’t make sense about it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing specific,” Scior said after a moment.  “I’m just not a Mage.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was an understatement.  Kylri shook his head again, more to clear it than anything else.  He reached out a hand and stroked the lid of the chest.  The shock of another Mage’s energy sparked to his fingertips.  It was familiar, </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>familiar.  He had realized immediately when they had found the thing that he had encountered this Mage’s work before.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where?  </span>
  </em>
  <span> It had been bothering him since.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Novice Arkenskane?” Lord Master Ashdown prompted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Farris.  The revelation fell on him like a curse.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  The word died before it passed his lips, and he replaced it with a confident smile that his emotions could not support.  The spark was too familiar to belong to anyone else.  “An unlocking rune is too obvious.  He’ll have put measures in place to prevent that.”  Farris was brilliant, but not so brilliant that he would forget to protect against the simplest things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He?” Master Reoghn repeated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Mage,” Kylri said, gesturing to the chest and trying very hard to dismiss the thoughts of Farris.  “Unfortunately, there’s enough magic there to make anything else a bit...risky.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, whoa,” Scior interjected.  “Risky?  What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Makira doesn’t like to play with others,” Kylri explained, noting the irritation on Master Reoghn’s face.  Scior’s interruptions were clearly wearing down the thin bonds of his patience.   “If I try to open this box with too much makira, the magic that is already there will react to it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Violently,” Master Reoghn agreed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you’re saying,” Scior squawked, “that this could blow up in your face.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri straightened his spine, putting on an air of dignity. “No. Well...no.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior shot a questioning look at Master Reoghn, who shrugged. He scoffed. “And you’re just gonna let him </span>
  <em>
    <span>try it?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A knock on the door interrupted the Mage Master. He rose, admitting the presence of Master Coltz, who trailed Valantine in his wake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You called a Physician?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Kylri said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Master Reoghn corrected elegantly, waving them in. “Sit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri frowned.  “I’m perfectly capable.  You won’t be needed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now, Novice Arkenskane,” Lord Master Ashdown said soothingly.  “No one is doubting your ability.  The Mage who secured this chest is an uncertain variable.  We simply want to be careful.  We don’t know his strength.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, I do,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kylri thought viciously.  “Fine,” he conceded.  “I’ll have Valantine, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine glanced nervously at Master Coltz before taking his place beside Kylri’s chair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri took a deep, steadying breath.  “If this goes...poorly, Valantine, you will revive me as quickly as possible.  Once I begin, the magic in the chest will start reacting, and it will not stop until I succeed.  Permission to begin, Lord Master?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Granted,” the Lord Master waved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His first rune was a simple one, made for the sole purpose of testing the strength of Farris’ magic.  It was stronger than it had been ten years ago, which shouldn’t have been a surprise.  His second rune was more complex, and the sunset orange hue of Farris’ makira began to creep out of the wood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why can’t we just axe it open?” Scior asked, a shade of panic tainting his words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” Ashdown reprimanded.  “Let him focus.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The second rune burst, having done nothing but bring out the color of the makira.  He cursed aloud, reaching deeper into himself and pulling out a third rune.  The chest flared brightly, giving the fleeting impression of being caught aflame.  A tugging sensation began deep in his gut, mild at first but increasingly intense as he poured more energy into the rune.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t working,” Master Reoghn said suddenly.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Silent,” the Lord Master ordered.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to go harder,” Kylri said, more to himself than anyone else, but the statement was met with general outrage.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Novice Valantine,” Master Reoghn ordered, “put your hand on his shoulder.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine went white.  “Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do it,” the Mage Master commanded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The gentle weight of Valantine’s hand was grounding, certainly, but it was accompanied by a rush of sensation that Kylri was not prepared for.  He shrugged Valantine’s hand away.  The makira coloring his fingers flickered red, but maybe it was just his imagination.  After all, everything was turning red.  The tugging in his stomach reached a new peak of intensity and his ears started ringing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to succeed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kylri!” Scior barked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a burst of energy, and everything went dark.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Who is Farris?</p><p>Feel free to leave comments, it makes me happy.</p><p>Speculation is also welcome.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Scior</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“That’s it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So it seems,” the Lord Master Mused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior frowned.  In the smoking remains of the chest sat a single, unmarred curl of weathered paper.  He shook his head.  “That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he repeated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine looked up from Kylri’s slouched body and tipped up an eyebrow.  “What were you expecting?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Scior confessed.  “It’s just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>small.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  All that trouble for...what?  I doubt that more than fifty words fit on that paper.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine returned his attention to Kylri, who was beginning to stir.  He ran a thumb over Kylri’s cheekbone, a platonically affectionate smile on the corner of his mouth.  “He’s coming around.  He’s tough; that was quite the energy surge when he, ah, melted the chest.  Even </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Master Reoghn muttered something that sounded rather like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Surprise, surprise.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri’s dark eyelashes fluttered, drawing attention away from Reoghn’s mutterings.  “Did it work?” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Valantine said.  “Take it easy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You melted the chest,” Master Reoghn said dryly.  “You are incredibly lucky that you did not damage the scroll.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you going to do with it?” Kylri croaked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We will move it to a safe location where the Archivists can study it.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri swallowed convulsively.  “The Archivists,” he repeated.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is not negotiable,” said Master Reoghn.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hefty rap on the door interrupted them.  Scior threw himself out of his chair to answer it, then paused, glancing at the Lord Master.  Smiling fondly, Ashdown waved him to continue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he had expected, it was Warrior Master Delcry. He was brutish and physical, and avoided the use of words as often as possible. Despite that, he commanded his Novices and Primaries with a hand as firm as rose petals.  He gave Scior an abrupt nod that possibly conveyed a bit of pride, but perhaps it was his imagination.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master Delcry,” Lord Master Ashdown greeted.  “You’ve missed all the excitement.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excitement,” Valantine repeated quietly.  He brushed a lock of hair off Kylri’s forehead.  “Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri fluttered a hand.  Scior wasn’t sure if it was dismissive or distressed.  “I’m fine,” Kylri said.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, then, Master Coltz, Novice Valantine,” Lord Master Ashdown said, “you are dismissed.  We have one more matter to discuss with Novices Arkenskane and Commenstance.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine met Scior’s eyes and gave an encouraging nod, and he followed his Master out.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sit back down, Novice Commenstance,” the Lord Master said.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior selected the empty Physician Master chair, beside Kylri; it seemed a safer bet than the Lord Master’s.  His heart throbbed in his throat.  This was it, the moment that dictated his future, and Kylri’s.  He glanced over at his partner, his best friend.  Kylri did not return the glance.  His eyes were glassy, and his gaze directed into the middle distance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, gentlemen,” the Lord Master began, “how did your quest go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excellent,” Kylri said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really excellent,” Scior reiterated.  “A few mishaps, but nothing we couldn’t handle.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you were successful in retrieving the chest.  I think you both know what that means.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri lifted his head a bit.  There was a sudden clarity in his eyes.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You passed the examination with flying colors,” the Lord Master announced.  “Congratulations, Primary Commenstance, Primary Arkenskane.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior clapped a hand over his mouth. He was grinning under his hand, grinning like an idiot.  He looked over at Kylri, expecting to see similar joy.  He was greeted instead by an expression of shock, and something else he couldn’t name.  Either way, it was a little bit hungry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“May I put in a request to be transferred to the Archives?” Kylri asked quietly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Lord Master smiled understandingly.  “I am afraid there is no position open to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri pointed at the scroll, still perched unassumingly in the bottom of the ruined chest.  “I want to read it.  I want to study it.  What if it still has his magic in it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Archivists are all Mages, too, Arkenskane,” the Lord Master said gently.  “They can handle it, I assure you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They </span>
  <em>
    <span>can,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Kylri repeated.  “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want to.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Just this one scroll.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You heard the Lord Master,” Master Reoghn snapped.  “Your answer is no.  You are both dismissed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri closed his eyes briefly, then stood up.  “Thank you,” he said quietly, and stalked toward the door.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior scrambled to his feet and bowed to the Lord Master.  “Thank you, sir,” he repeated, and followed Kylri out of the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘We did it,” he said brightly, as they made their way across the dining hall.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri stopped in his tracks, staring at Scior with startling intensity.  As always, his grey right eye appeared more attentive than his electric blue left one.  “I need to find out what that scroll contains,” he hissed.  “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have to.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior shook his head slowly.  “Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri wrung his hands together, so tightly that it looked painful.  His hair stuck to his forehead and his skin was pale again.  “I...we just worked so hard to get it,” he said, not meeting Scior’s eyes.  He was a terrible liar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was clear enough that he had different motives, but also that they were none of Scior’s business.  “Well, put in a request to visit the Archives,” he suggested.  “They can’t refuse you forever.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’ll try,” Kylri said.  “And even if I get in, they’ll watch me too closely.  We have to go in, just the two of us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior shook his head with more vigor.  “They’ll catch us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not if we go at night,” Kylri argued.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“After curfew?  Do you even know how to get into the Archives?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri looked defeated for a moment, but he looked up stubbornly.  “No, but I know who does.  Will you come with me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior frowned.  “You’re really set on this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  I’ll do it without you if I have to, but I would rather you came.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Scior said.  “Who is this person, that’s going to get us into the Archives in the middle of the night?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri grinned ruggedly.  “You’ll have to trust me, alright?  You aren’t going to like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kylri is a little dependent on Scior, in case you didn't notice.  There are reasons for that, they will come out of the woodwork later.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Charlie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His name was Charles Victus Kellrin III, and he did not live up to it in any way.</p><p> </p><p>His great-grandfather had been the first Lord Master of Ardenhall, and his grandfather had been the next, and his father had been the third. Charlie Kellrin had been offered the position six times, and declined it every time. He shared two traits with his mother: stubbornness, and an unhealthy love for Draconian horses. The rest of his traits came from his father. Maybe that was why they did not get along. Not that it was surprising; the entire Kellrin line was defined by dominant genes and poor paternal-filial relationships. He predictably favored his mother and her profession to that of his father and his father’s father, and so on. She essentially raised him alone, and did an adequate job of it.</p><p> </p><p>And then she died.</p><p> </p><p>It was a tragic accident, involving the very beast that Charlie had since devoted his life to. That once, Charles Kellrin II left his office to fight with his son. The beast had startled while Aurora Kellrin was trying to calm her, and she bled to death at the feet of the beast. Charles Kellrin blamed his son, and Charlie Kellrin blamed his father, who disappeared shortly after his wife’s death.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie Kellrin had built the most deplorable reputation he could manage on his mother’s death and his father’s disappearance. People went out of their way to please him, or to avoid him if they could.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter really only serves to introduce Charlie Kellrin.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Kylri</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh, yeah, you're a bad bitch, aren't you?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri raised an eyebrow, leaning over the edge of the horse stall. “Well?”</p><p> </p><p>“Look at me, bitch,” Charlie snapped, ignoring Kylri and jerking the animal's head toward him with a violent twitch of the reins. She wore a simple rope halter, but her black velvet nose wrinkled around it. Her sharp teeth, sullied by the echoes of incredible carnage, glinted threateningly. </p><p> </p><p>“My innocent ears,” Kylri said sarcastically.</p><p> </p><p>“Charlie, are you listening?” Snap, snap.</p><p> </p><p>“I've got ears on my head, Scior,” Charlie snapped. “Now's just not the time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just because they're on your head doesn't mean you use them,” Scior replied dryly.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie turned toward Scior with a look that could melt metal. “I heard you got scraped up on your exam, <em>Primary Commenstance</em>.” The title was applied scathingly. “It really is a shame that you didn’t fuck up your face.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior looked ready to break the Wrangler’s nose, so Kylri snapped his fingers. “Can you both shut up? Charlie, are you in, or out?”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie clicked his tongue, returning his gaze to the beast’s ember eyes. “Out,” he decided.</p><p> </p><p>Frustration built in Kylri’s chest. If the scroll still contained traces of Farris’ makira, he had to find out, and he had to know if it was traceable. “It’ll be fun,” he coaxed.</p><p> </p><p>“I doubt it,” Charlie replied, reaching into his pocket with his left hand while his right kept a firm grip on the halter. He withdrew a wide strip of burlap and brushed it across the Draconian horse’s nose. She shrieked, rearing her head away from him. His fingers were still looped through the halter, and she dragged his arm up with her.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit!” he snarled, dragging her back down. Once he had her under control, he stuffed the burlap back in his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>“Whoa,” Scior laughed nervously. “She really is wild.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Charlie said coarsely, freeing his fingers from the beast’s halter and tightening his fist around the reins instead. “She almost tore my hand off. But you go ahead and laugh.”</p><p> </p><p>“Charlie,” Kylri said. “Have you ever been inside the Archives?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Charlie said.</p><p> </p><p>“You know where they are, don't you? Don’t you want to see them?”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie shook his head slightly. “Yes, I know where they are. Do I care what's inside? Not particularly. What I want, Arkenskane, is to be left alone so I can tame this bitch. If she isn’t broken in six weeks, they’re letting her go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Say yes, and I’ll leave you alone,” Kylri pleaded.  </p><p> </p><p>"Gods, you're insistent." Charlie rolled his eyes, levering himself over the door of the stall. It was a graceless process, and he shoved Scior out of his way as he completed it. "Look, I would love to help you break the rules or whatever it is you want to do, but this bitch is… well, she's a bitch. I can't waste a minute if I want to break her, understand?"</p><p> </p><p>"You said six weeks?" Kylri asked.</p><p> </p><p>"You're extraordinarily retentive," Charlie replied, spewing sarcasm. He reached up behind the Draconian mare's ears and tugged the halter off her face.  </p><p> </p><p>Kylri glanced at Scior and disguised a laugh as the memory of Scior's theatrical antics on their examination resurfaced. "Well, Scior," he said, tacking on a dramatic sigh for emphasis, "I guess Charlie Kellrin's reputation <em>is</em> misleading."</p><p> </p><p>Scior caught on quickly. A flicker of amusement glittered in his eyes. "I hate to say I told you so, but..." he sighed. "It doesn't matter. I'm disappointed."</p><p> </p><p>"Mmm," Kylri agreed.  </p><p> </p><p>Charlie threw them a savage glare. "What are you idiots talking about?"</p><p> </p><p>Kylri shook his head. "Oh, never mind," he said woefully. "It's just, the Charlie Kellrin I've heard about could tame this… horse… in no time at all. He could take a day-- hell, a <em>week</em>-- off, and still have her tamed. That's all."</p><p> </p><p>"You think I don't know what you're doing?" Charlie spat.  </p><p> </p><p>Kylri put on his prettiest smile. "And what, exactly, am I doing?"</p><p> </p><p>"Being an asshole, and playing with my pride," Charlie said. He smiled then, a reptilian baring of teeth that somehow looked like the Draconian Horse behind him. “I like the way you bastards think. Fine, I’m in. Just for that. Bastards,” he repeated, slapping the animal’s cheek to turn its fangs away from his shoulder. “Now excuse me, I have a few hours between then and now and I can’t afford to waste them.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Scior</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Night found the three of them kneeling in the grimy shadows behind the main building of Ardenhall.  Kylri was frowning, the fingers of his right hand buried in the dust. There was a faint blue glow around his hands, a glow so familiar Scior hardly noticed it anymore. He spared a moment of disdain for the expression of awe and something like disgust on Charlie’s face.  </p><p> </p><p>Charlie eventually stood up and crossed his arms.  “I think I’ve done my part,” he hissed.  </p><p> </p><p>“You’re coming with us,” Kylri murmured back.  </p><p> </p><p>“Well, then, you’d best hurry up,” Charlie snapped.  “We haven’t got all night.”</p><p> </p><p>“What is wrong with you two?” Kylri asked, shaking his head.  “Always in a rush.”</p><p> </p><p>“One day, it will save your life,” Charlie said.</p><p> </p><p>Kylri breathed half a laugh.  “I doubt it.  Aha!  Found it.”  He pulled a curled bit of rope out of the dirt like a magic trick, dangerous excitement in his eyes. The earth rose at an angle, opening a tidy square hole in the dirt. “Me first?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior put out a hand to support the lifted square of earth and wood. Kylri grinned at him in the dark and slithered down the hole. He lowered himself to his hands and knees and crawled forward half a body length. “Charlie next.”</p><p> </p><p>Once Charlie had followed Kylri, Scior lowered himself in and let the trapdoor close them in complete darkness. For a moment, Scior could not see anything. Then, the glow around Kylri’s hands brightened just enough that he could make out the tunnel ahead of them. </p><p> </p><p>“Remind me again what the hell it is we’re doing in the Archives emergency exit?”</p><p> </p><p>“Secret tunnels, Kellrin, I thought this would be your thing,” Scior said airily.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not eight anymore,” Charlie said sourly. </p><p> </p><p>“Not just secret tunnels,” Kylri corrected in a whisper. “It’s what’s at the end that is of curiosity.”</p><p> </p><p>“Kylri, it’s really not a good idea for you to be down here right now,” Scior hissed.</p><p> </p><p>“I was performing extreme magic. I blacked out. I’m fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Does Val know you’re down here?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, because then if they ask him where we are, he can’t give us away.  Besides, he wouldn’t have let me go,” Kylri said matter-of-factly.</p><p> </p><p>“See, you shouldn’t be down here,” Scior said triumphantly.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s at the end that’s worth crawling in the dirt for?” Charlie interrupted.</p><p> </p><p>“The Archives,” Kylri repeated.  “Do either of you know what the Archives contain?”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie snorted.  “A bunch of dusty old scrolls?”</p><p> </p><p>“Among other things, yes.  Ancient artifacts, too, and catacombs.  That might be more to your interests.”</p><p> </p><p>“How do you know?” Scior asked.</p><p> </p><p>“I read about it,” Kylri said.  “I always wanted to be an Archivist.”</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell is a catacombs?” Charlie blurted, as if completely unaware that the conversation had started branching in a different direction.</p><p> </p><p>Scior rolled his eyes in the dark.  “Are you stupid?” he spat.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, enough,” Kylri snapped.  “Both of you.”</p><p> </p><p>They crawled for a while before Charlie said, “Catacombs, those are the fancy underground graveyards? The ones with arches and marble pedestals and stuff?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kind of,” Kylri said. “It’s essentially an underground stone crypt full of fancy tombs and, in this case, information. Information that we can take advantage of.”</p><p> </p><p>“Take advantage of, how?”</p><p> </p><p>“Academic interest,” Kylri said shortly. “Look, there’s light. We’re almost there.”</p><p> </p><p>One after another, they filed out of the dirt tunnel into the clean marble and stone chambers of the Archives. Torchlight stained the marble pale gold. As Charlie had predicted, the ceiling arched high above them.  To their left, the chamber was open, interrupted only by neat rows of pedestals displaying rusted weapons and armor and such.  Square shelves stretched as far as Scior could see to their right.  The air was stale with expired grief and old, old paper. </p><p> </p><p>“Holy fuck,” Charlie breathed, taking a step into the open space.</p><p> </p><p>“Go ahead and explore,” Kylri said.  “Try not to leave any traces. I’ll find you when I’m finished.”</p><p> </p><p>“Finished what, exactly?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri raised an eyebrow. “Exploring.” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s <em> it? </em> That’s why you dragged me down here?” Charlie growled. “To <em> explore </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie looked conflicted for a moment.  “Alright,” he decided, taking off toward the artifacts.  “Take your time,” he called over his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Kylri’s mouth curled into an amused smile and he turned to Scior.  “Keep an eye on him, will you?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior scrunched his face into a dubious squint. “I think I’d better keep an eye on <em> you </em>. Who knows what kind of idiocy you’re going to involve yourself in.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know what they say,” Kylri grinned. “This world favours the reckless and the brave.”</p><p> </p><p>“But not the idiots, I notice.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s why you have to look after Charlie. I’ll be careful.” His sideways grin caught Scior’s breath. He looked eleven again. It was impossible to say no.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine.  Be careful, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri flashed him a grin.  “Said I would.”  He turned and strode toward the rows of shelves.  </p><p> </p><p>Scior shook his head, clearing the haunting feeling of the torchlit darkness. Then set off toward the left side of the gaping room to find Charlie. </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He found Charlie farther back than he had expected.  It seemed that the artifacts held no interest for Charlie, but rather the tombs in the far reaches of the Archives.</p><p> </p><p>“Look at all these dead people,” Charlie said, as a way of greeting.</p><p> </p><p>“Charlie.”</p><p> </p><p>“Look at ‘em all, Scior. All these embalmed corpses wrapped in cloth and buried in stone. What a way to go out. Like a candle under a snuffer.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not creepy at all.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, hell. When I die, I’ll be burned and set free to the wind. I’m held here in life. I won’t be held in death.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>You’re </em>creepy,” Scior concluded.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie shrugged with one shoulder. “There’s worse things to be.” The pointed look he threw at Scior proposed that at least three of these <em> worse things </em> were things that could be used to describe him.</p><p> </p><p>Scior absently brushed his fingertips over the brass plaque on the casket to his right. The engraved letters felt strange.  He tilted his head to read the label and took an unwilling step back.  “Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Charlie was beside him in a second.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t look at…” but it was too late. Charlie’s lower jaw went taut.</p><p> </p><p><em> Aurora Kellrin, </em> said the plaque, <em> Wrangler Master. </em></p><p> </p><p>“I’m leaving,” Charlie said suddenly.  “Tell Kylri I… I wasn’t feeling well, or something.  Don’t tell him… Scior.  Please.”</p><p> </p><p>The sudden plea in his voice made Scior meet his green eyes.  “Okay,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t tell him that we found my mother’s grave,” Charlie reiterated.  </p><p> </p><p>“I won’t,” Scior agreed.  “Charlie.  I’m sorry about her.”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie shook his head.  “I don’t want to hear it.  I just want to go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” Kylri said from behind him.  He exuded an air of nervous, spastic energy, the kind that suggested to Scior that he had found what he was looking for. “Let’s go.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Kylri</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kylri reckoned that the paper had seen many more years than he had.  It was brittle enough to crack with even the gentlest handling.  He uncurled it fastidiously, lighting his work with a revolving blue rune floating above his head.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The edges of the parchment curled from habit, and he pinned them down with small paperweights.  Frowning, he directed his rune down toward the table.  In the pale blue light, he could make out the heavy, spidery scrawl of the scribe.  There were three words, </span>
  <em>
    <span>three.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He didn’t recognize the language.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tempae non pradura</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scraped his fingers over his scalp.  When he found the scroll in the Archives, he had immediately been struck by Farris’ makira.  Heart skittering, he had performed a simple test, the results of which had driven him mad with terror.  He had pocketed the fragile curl of parchment and escaped the Archives.  It was only now, as he prepared to purge the paper of Farris’ power, that he noticed the words.  Perhaps it was the vaulted script in which they were written, or perhaps the space that they occupied on the page, but they were intriguing enough to give him pause.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood up, taking two steps back from the desk.  The language was clearly archaic, but whether it was Ganyran or Serveic or something else entirely, he wasn’t sure.  It was frustrating, certainly.  He cursed into the dark.  His fear of the paper forgotten, he paced the aisles of the library until he found an armload of hefty books and returned to his seat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first book was bound in worn blue linen and etched with silver letters that proclaimed it </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Archaic Ganyran Dictionary.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He flipped it open and thumbed through the pages until he located the letter T.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Temoze.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tempar.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scowled, slamming the book.  Wrong language.  The rest of the books were exactly as promising.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tempae, tempar, tempaa, tempanae, tempras.  The similarities snagged on his conscience, and he reopened </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Archaic Ganyran Dictionary.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tempar (n)-- Time.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swallowed, turning his attention to the open pages of the second book.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tempaa (n): Time, the passage of time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tempanae (n)- The progression of time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tempras (noun): Time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri scrambled for a scrap of parchment, copying the script from the scroll and adding a note beneath.  The rune above his page dwindled, but he continued his work until the horizon was stained purple and orange.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He surveyed his work, all the scribbled and crossed-out notes.  His final assessment of the text was circled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tempae: Time</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pradura: Progress</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Non: Negation</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He frowned, taking a step back from his work.  “Time is not progressing?” he mused, rubbing the space between his eyebrows.  “Time is not… what?  Going forward?  But it is.  It </span>
  <em>
    <span>has to be.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”  Exhaustion gnawed at him, and he started to clean up his space.  It was nearly morning, and it was unlikely that he would be achieving anything further.  Ink had dripped onto the table surface, and the books were strewn across a chair and the floor.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Realization struck him like a static shock.  He knew.  He knew exactly what the paper said.  Elation came out of his fingertips in the wispy blue shape of his makira.  He reached out to take the scroll, only to jerk back as it flared orange.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He had forgotten the reason he stole the paper in the first place.  Before midnight, the words on the scroll had held no meaning to him, but since setting his eyes on them, they had devoured his attention.  He had forgotten it, but the essence of Farris still soured the parchment.  He scowled, reining in his enthusiasm and collecting every scrap of paper he had scribbled on.  They would have to be burned, all of them.  The information was too volatile to trust anyone with, and the power of Farris’ makira was too intense to remove or to ignore.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gathered up the books and returned them to their shelves.  Then, stuffing the papers under his jacket, he stifled his rune and left the library.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Mage courtyard was empty, but the braziers were left aflame as they always were.  His footsteps were as near to silent as he could make them, although they still echoed slightly between the barracks and the Main Hall.  He sidled up to the nearest brazier and began shoveling his scrap paper into it, watching the heat consume them.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wrung the decrepit scroll in his fist, listening to the heart-rending crunch of the paper.  The fire flared brighter orange for a moment as he fed it into the smoldering fuel of the brazier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tempae non pradura,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he reminded himself.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Time does not have to go forward.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Scior</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Primary Commenstance, a word?” Lord Master Ashdown stood on the edge of the Warrior’s courtyard.  In the morning chill, he drew his elaborate robes around himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir,” Scior said, sheathing his sword and raking back his sweaty hair with his fingertips.  He trotted over to the edge of the courtyard and bowed briefly.  His breath gushed in and out, in and out.</p><p> </p><p>“You appear to be working hard.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir,” Scior said, silently damning his own pride. </p><p> </p><p>“Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that you were complicit in the theft of property last night.  You are going to come with me.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior swallowed hard.  He was seething, burning with shame that wasn't his.  The theft of property?  Charlie stole something when he wasn’t watching.  But what would Charlie have stolen?  A corpse?  Not altogether the most likely scenario he could imagine, though possibly the most preferable.  Eliminating that only left Kylri as the thief.  He found the scroll, and he stole it.  Damn him, <em> damn him! </em>  Why would he steal it?  Scior followed the Lord Master, a sinking sensation locking his stomach in the grip of anxiety.</p><p> </p><p>They entered the Main Hall. The dining hall echoed empty with their footsteps.  For the second time in two days, Scior found himself facing the door to the Hall of Masters.  This time, three smaller chairs had been drawn into the room from the dining hall and lined up against the windows.  Two of them were already occupied.  Kylri slouched forward in the one on the left, his elbows propped on his knees.  He didn’t look at Scior.  The chair in the middle sat Charlie Kellrin.  His eyebrow was split, and he was sucking blood from his teeth.  All the Masters were assembled, perched delicately on their chairs.  The only exceptions were Warrior Master Delcry, swiping blood from his nose, and Master Coltz, standing behind his chair and supervising James Valantine, who knelt in front of Charlie and tried desperately to clean up his face.  Charlie <em> did </em>look at Scior.  He looked as angry as Scior felt.</p><p> </p><p>“Sit, Novice Commenstance,” Lord Master Ashdown ordered.  Scior did.  His lips were numb.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Ashdown began, lowering himself agedly into his chair, “which of you is going to tell me what happened last night?”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie exploded out of his chair.  Valantine nearly toppled over in his attempt to remove himself from Charlie’s warpath. “I don’t even know why I’m here!  Whatever these stupid little bastards do in their free time is no fault of mine!”</p><p> </p><p>“Sit down, Kellrin,” the Lord Master. “You too, Coltz. Novice Valantine, dismissed.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not a <em> novice </em> anymore,” Charlie spat. “I can and I will do whatever I godsdamn please.” His eyes followed Valantine as the latter bowed out of the Hall of Masters.</p><p>“Sit down,” Wrangler Master Hrael implored. </p><p> </p><p>Charlie stood still for a moment.  There was a dark smear of blood, not his own, on his clenched, bone-white knuckles. Then, his chin jutting out, he sat.  He somehow gave the impression he was doing so by his own will.</p><p> </p><p>“Commenstance, what have you got to say for yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior fiddled with his fingernails. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.  “I don’t know what was stolen.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you do know where it was stolen from?”</p><p> </p><p>From across Charlie’s folded arms, Scior saw a shock of electric blue between Kylri’s dark eyelashes. The familiarity of the sharp glance cut Scior’s tongue out. It was Kylri’s favorite method of warning.</p><p> </p><p>But what could Kylri possibly do to him if he told the truth?  And surely the only way out of this mess was the truth?  For him, maybe.  But if Kylri had stolen the scroll…</p><p> </p><p>“Novice Commenstance?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, sir,” Scior replied, “I don’t know where anything was stolen from.”</p><p> </p><p>“Novice Arkenskane?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri rolled his woven leather bracelet around and around on his wrist. The tanned cowhide was old and soft with wear; it had come with Kylri to Ardenhall when he was eight and had been on his wrist ever since. He said nothing, made no indication of having heard his name.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Novice </em> Arkenskane,” Master Reoghn reiterated, his voice rising with anger. Lord Master Ashdown waved his rage away and stood, coming to pace slowly in front of the three guilty parties seated by the window. </p><p> </p><p>“Not one of you is appealing to my gracious side,” he said tartly.  “The scroll recovered on your examination was reported missing by the Archivists this morning.  I seem to recall Primary Arkenskane expressing an unusual interest in that specific scroll.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri kept his eyes fixed on the floor.  Lord Master Ashdown stopped in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Investigations were conducted.  According to your roommates, Primary Arkenskane, you did not return to your bed last night.”</p><p> </p><p>“He was in mine,” Scior blurted.  All eyes in the room except for Kylri’s turned on him, and he flushed deep scarlet.  “Because… I… wasn’t,” he spluttered.  The corner of Kylri’s lip twitched.  Charlie started laughing.</p><p> </p><p>“Silence, Primary Kellrin.  It is funny, however,” the Lord Master replied, his right brow tilted. “Because according to your roommates, you and Kellrin, while being <em> late </em> to bed, <em> did </em>sleep in your own beds.”</p><p> </p><p>“They weren’t involved,” Kylri said, his eyes still lowered.  After his silence, his voice sounded louder than it was.  “I stole the scroll, but I acted alone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then where were Commenstance and Kellrin, if not in bed after curfew?”</p><p> </p><p>“Charlie asked for my help,” Scior said.  “The Draconian horses needed…”</p><p> </p><p>“Water,” Charlie supplied.  “The novices forgot to water them last night.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Scior agreed.  The credibility of the statement was weak, considering his lack of love for Charlie Kellrin was well-known.  It was only last night in the Archives that he had begun to respect Charlie.  Without that experience, he wouldn’t have given Charlie the time of day, never mind help with the Draconians.</p><p> </p><p>Lord Master Ashdown nodded slowly, in a manner that suggested their lie was far from convincing, but he couldn’t be bothered to continue wringing the truth out of them.  He turned back to Kylri.</p><p> </p><p>“Where is the scroll, Primary Arkenskane?  Return it, and your punishment will be minimal.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri lifted his chin a little, but not high enough to meet the Lord Master’s eyes.  “I burned it,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>All the Masters started buzzing.  The <em> horror </em>!  Once again, Charlie started laughing.</p><p> </p><p>“Commenstance and Kellrin, out,” the Lord Master ordered.  <em> “Out!” </em></p><p> </p><p>They complied.  Before closing the door, Scior threw a last glance at Kylri, who was stone-still in his chair.  Then the door shut between them, and he was alone in the vast dining hall with Charlie.</p><p> </p><p>“What are they going to do to him?”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie rubbed the blood off his knuckles onto his trousers.  “I don’t know, Commenstance.  Just be glad they aren’t doing anything to you.”  He grinned and turned to walk away.</p><p> </p><p>“Charlie.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“You seemed surprised to see your mother’s grave.  I just wondered…”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie rolled his eyes.  “Look, Commenstance.  I don’t want to talk about it, but... She was supposed to be burned, okay?  But they thought that they loved her too much to let her remains go.  I talked to Master Hrael about it last night.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior frowned.  “So he knew you were down there?  And he didn’t tell the Lord Master?”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie snorted.  “Scior,” he said, “I’m <em> Charles Kellrin. </em>  I’m allowed to use the front door to the Archives, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Scior said.  “I’m sorry that they didn’t respect her wishes.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just… hilarious to me,” Charlie began, in a tone entirely devoid of humor, “that they thought keeping her remains in a basement would keep her close.  And they did that because they <em> loved her. </em>  The thing is, I think I loved her more, and I think it would have been easier to let her be free, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior nodded.  </p><p> </p><p>“Now that you know all this, of course,” Charlie continued, clapping Scior’s shoulder, “you’re my new best friend.  Congratulations.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your new best friend,” Scior repeated dubiously.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, come on, Commenstance.  You know my reputation.  I don’t really have a lot of friends.”</p><p> </p><p>They were interrupted by a young man in Windemoor’s military colors.  He had a satchel over his shoulder that indicated his status as a messenger.  “Excuse me,” he said crisply, “can you tell me where I might find Lord Master Ashdown?”</p><p> </p><p>“Right through there,” Scior said, pointing to the door.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie grinned at Scior before addressing the messenger.  “You might want to knock first.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bit of a longer chapter, but we're starting to get to the exciting bits.</p><p>If you want to leave comments, that would be great!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Kylri</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kylri found Scior loitering in the main courtyard, clearly waiting for him.  When he saw Kylri coming, he rushed to his side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well?” he asked nervously.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, what?” Kylri replied stiffly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t expelled, are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri snorted, not looking at Scior.  “Of course not.  I suppose I got off easy with a suspension, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re suspended?  For how long?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Through his teeth, Kylri replied, “Eight weeks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eight </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that bad, Scior,” Kylri said.  “I’ll be allowed to continue training, but new concepts and...peer interactions will be limited.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He began walking toward the Mage courtyard, and Scior fell into step beside him.  “So we won’t be able to see each other, then?  Is that what you’re saying?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri shook his head.  It was too much effort to meet Scior’s dark, earnest eyes, so he didn’t.  “No, we can still see each other, but… I won’t be working with other Mages during the day, and I’ll be, ah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>volunteering my evenings</span>
  </em>
  <span> to help out in the infirmary.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior looked at him incredulously.  “The infirmary?  You don’t handle blood.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know that,” Kylri replied shortly.  “Look, don’t worry about me.  You have bigger things to worry about.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cursed himself.  The Windemoor messenger’s arrival had rattled him, and his abrupt dismissal from the Hall of Masters had furthered the distress.  The envelope delivered had borne the seal of General Hathos, the military commander of Windemoor.  He had made the connection, possibly incorrectly, that Windemoor was facing war.  As Primaries, that put himself and Scior in line to go to war if the military was not enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only, he was suspended, and wouldn’t be going anywhere.  Which meant, for the first time in ten years, he and Scior would be separated.<br/></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s probably nothing,” he corrected.  “Just… you’re a Primary now, and that means anything can happen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kylri, what did the messenger say?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tightened his jaw.  “Not much of anything, really,” he said honestly.  “He just introduced himself and handed Ashdown a letter from…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“From who?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had reached the Mage barracks, and Kylri started up the stairs.  The act was as evasive as his response.  “No idea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior stood stubbornly at the bottom of the stairs.  “You know you can tell me, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri leaned heavily on the banister.  “No,” he breathed, “I can’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushed himself away from the banister with his palms and let out a breath.  “Because I don’t know,” he replied, his voice thickly laced with false levity.  “I have to get my book, and you have to get back to… what?  Training?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suppose so,” Scior replied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you later,” Kylri said, and let himself into the barracks.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And the plot thickens...</p><p>I know this chapter is a little short and not the most exciting, but I promise the next one will be good!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Charlie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The bite would have been fine if the bleeding had stopped, but it hadn’t, so Charlie Kellrin made his way to the infirmary with his arm held stiffly against his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The familiar scent of alcohol and blood greeted him as he let himself in.  He recognized a few of the Physicians that hovered between the beds, but made no move toward any of them.  He was here to see one very particular Novice Physician, and he was nowhere in sight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Help you, sir?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At first, he thought it was James Valantine, but he quickly realized that it was, in fact, William Valantine.  Will was a year younger than his brother, and the resemblance was striking.  He was a little fairer and a little thinner, if that was even possible, and his freckles appeared in a greater concentration than James’.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will Valantine?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.  Can I help you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmm.  I’m looking for the other Valantine.  Know where I can find him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will shifted his weight.  “Yeah,” he said hesitantly.  “He’s… he’s on the other side of this row, down at the end.  He’s talking to Master Reoghn, though, and I think it’ll be a bit.  I can patch you up right away.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather wait for James,” Charlie insisted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will’s lips twisted.  His mouth was equally as expressive as his brother’s.  “You’re bleeding pretty good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a bite,” Charlie said, starting in the direction Will had indicated.  “I’ll survive until he’s finished.  You said he’s this way?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will nodded cynically, muttering something under his breath that sounded rather like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re welcome.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie reached the end of the row.  As Will had said, he could hear the voices of James Valantine and Master Reoghn through the curtain around the last bed.  He sat on the edge of the parallel cot in the next row and waited.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Novice Valantine, do your friends know about your father?  Better yet, do they know about you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The strange conversation pricked his ears.  He had been trying not to listen, but Master Reoghn’s accusatory statement piqued his interest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a long pause before he heard Valantine’s voice, quieter than normal.  Charlie had to strain to hear him.  “It hasn’t come up,” he said, “and I don’t think it ever will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Consider my offer, and you might be right,” Master Reoghn snapped.  “Good day, Novice Valantine.”  The curtain made way for him as he swept out of the space.  Charlie tried to look like he hadn’t been eavesdropping, but Master Reoghn took no notice of him anyways, choosing instead to stalk out of the infirmary without further ado.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“James?” he called quietly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine pulled the curtain aside.  The skin around his dark eyes was pulled tight, but he wore a brave smile as he gestured for Charlie to move to the bed behind the curtain.  “Charlie Kellrin,” he greeted, as he always did.  “Is it serious?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No idea,” Charlie replied, situating himself on the end of the bed, “but it hurts like a bitch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Same animal?” Valantine asked distastefully, prising Charlie’s arm away from his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Her name is Nemo,” Charlie replied.  Then, puzzled by Valantine’s lack of affection, he added,  “This is not the warm welcome I’ve come to expect from you.  What did Reoghn want?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Valantine said, too quickly.  “Just wanted to talk about Kylri.  I sent him away.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie lifted an eyebrow.  Valantine looked away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“James.”  He extended his unharmed hand to cradle the side of Valantine’s neck.  “You never have to lie to me.  You know that, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do,” Valantine replied shortly, pulling away from Charlie’s touch.  He began unlacing his case, as something to do more than anything else.  “I just have to lie to everyone else </span>
  <em>
    <span>about</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I told you you didn’t have to,” Charlie said.  “We haven’t done anything illegal.  You can tell people that we're seeing each other."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It's not illegal,” Valantine agreed hesitantly.  “But if they find out we’ve even looked at each other too long, they’ll assume we’ve…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Had sex?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  And that, that is frowned upon, if not outright illegal.”  He wasn’t wrong.  The legality of sleeping with a minor was fuzzy, but considering an age gap of five years between them, the act would not be greeted with much positivity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come on, James.  You know I have no interest in having sex with you until you are at least eighteen and can make your own informed decisions.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine smiled wryly, pulling a bottle of the infirmary’s trademark alcohol from his bag and dampening a cloth with it.  “You know, only you and my mother call me James.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What would you prefer?  I could call you…” he paused, snatching Valantine’s arm and pulling him closer.  “I could call you </span>
  <em>
    <span>Valantine.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine pulled away just as Charlie went to kiss him, holding up a finger.  “Or you could call me Val like all the rest of my friends do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Friends?” Charlie squawked.  “Is that all I am to you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine took Charlie's arm and began swabbing the deep tooth marks with the alcohol-soaked cloth.  "Shh.  Friends with benefits," he said, flashing Charlie a striking smile.  "Is that good enough for you?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie hesitated, wincing as the alcohol seeped into his wounds.  "For now," he said eventually.  "I would like you to be… more than a friend, one day."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine bit his lip, avoiding Charlie's gaze again.  "Charlie," he breathed, setting aside the cloth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What?"  The words spilled stubbornly out of his mouth, and he was unable to stop it.  "I'm not ashamed of it, James.  I want to marry you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young Physician choked.  "Charlie!" he hissed, a note and a half of hysteria in his lowered voice.  "I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>sixteen!"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, not yet, maybe," Charlie soothed, reaching out to Valantine's face again.  "I told you already, I am more than happy to wait until you're eighteen."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine allowed Charlie to caress his freckled cheek before turning back to his bag.  "Judging by your self-preservation issues, you won't be <em>alive</em> by the time I'm eighteen."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'll take extra precautions to ensure that I am, if you say you'll have me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He caught the acidic glare thrown his way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Your arm," Valantine said, artfully changing the subject, "needs stitches.  Again."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he administered eight tidy stitches to the deepest tooth marks on Charlie's arm, Charlie watched him.  His face was thin, but mature, and he had incredibly attractive eyes.  Charlie had started coming to him two years ago, when he began his career as a practicing Novice Physician.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Do… do you want me to call you Val?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine tied the last stitch closed before answering.  "No.  You can keep calling me James.  I…"  He halted, performing a final inspection of Charlie's arm.  "I really do like you, Charlie.  I’ll make you a deal.  I'm almost seventeen.  If you can go a year, one year, without breaking a bone, I will let you… have me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Charlie's heart rate increased at the thought, and he took Valantine’s hand, pressing it to his chest so he could feel it, too.  A coy smile crept across his face.  "</span><em><span>Have</span></em> <em><span>you</span></em><span>, huh?  One...one year from today, or one year from your seventeenth birthday?"</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Pig," Valantine said affectionately, stealing his hand away.  Charlie noted that he did not answer the question.  He pulled a clean white bandage from a cupboard on the wall and began winding it around Charlie's arm.  "Keep it clean," he instructed.  "And </span>
  <em>
    <span>dry,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Charlie.  Do you understand?  I’ll take out the stitches in ten days, and I do not want to see you before then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ouch.  Careful, you might hurt my feelings.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A withering stare solidified on Valantine’s face.  “You know what I mean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie nodded.  "Of course.  James?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine looked up from the laces of his bag. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Would you please kiss me?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The requested kiss was stiff and passionless.  "There you go.  Get out of here."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What the hell was that?" Charlie asked, tugging at Valantine's wrist.  The Physician gave in and let Charlie pull him closer.  It was a sloppy collision of teeth and lips, and Charlie curled his fingers into Valantine's hair, momentarily unaware of anything except the cool touch of Valantine's fingers at the base of his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he left the infirmary, his mouth still tasted like Valantine.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I couldn't wait any longer to post this one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Scior</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The announcement was issued the following morning at breakfast.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have grim news for you all,” the Lord Master announced, and a reverent hush fell over the dining hall.  Even the youngest Novices stopped fidgeting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ten days past, I received communication from the High Archmage of Windemoor that detailed a certain item he wanted recovered from Ganewel.  I sent two Primaries to retrieve it.  Four days past, they returned with the item.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior glanced at Kylri, who was seated beside him.  They had been home for four days.  Kylri wore a troubled expression that keenly exemplified what Scior was feeling.  He turned his attention back to Lord Master Ashdown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Since then, Ganewel has been trying to negotiate for the return of the item.  We told them that it is impossible to return, as it has since been…” he coughed, “...destroyed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri was suddenly very pale.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because of our failure to return the item, Ganewel declared war upon Windemoor very early this morning,” the Lord Master said.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior turned back to Kylri, who had set down his fork and was staring at his abandoned breakfast as if the thought of eating was suddenly nauseating.  He wasn’t sure that he felt much better himself, but judging from the way Charlie was frowning at Kylri from across the table, it was clear that he didn’t look as ill.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do not wish to worry any of you,” the Lord Master continued, raising his hands in a soothing gesture that would be more suitable if his news had brought a bout of angry mutterings rather than a stunned silence.  “I want only to inform you.  This is very sudden for all of us.  Windemoor’s military is responding to the call to war, and it is only on the small chance that they do not succeed in holding off Ganewel that any of us need worry about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay, Arkenskane?” Charlie hissed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri shook his head, a stunned glaze over his eyes.  “I’m going to be sick,” he announced numbly, and lurched out of the dining hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You going after him, or am I?” Charlie asked Scior.  Scior didn’t answer, but he pushed his chair back and followed Kylri out of the hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>True to his word, Kylri was being aggressively sick at the edge of the Main Courtyard.  Scior waited until he was finished before approaching and leaning on the wall.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” he asked gently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri wiped his lips on his sleeve.  “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked up</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said fiercely.  “The entire fucking country is at war because I burned a piece of paper with three words on it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Three words?” Scior repeated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri spat on the ground, presumably in an attempt to clear the taste of bile from his mouth.  “Three,” he confirmed.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember what they are?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri clenched his jaw.  A bleak look came over his face.  “Yes,” he whispered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe if we copy them down and return them to Ganewel, it would stop the war!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughed, but it was more like a snarl.  “Yes, and they would kill anyone who had read it, and anyone they </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>might have read it, and everyone else for good measure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior frowned.  “You have to tell the Lord Master that you read it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Kylri exploded.  “So he can give me up to Ganewel as a </span>
  <em>
    <span>peace offering?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  ‘Here you go, this is the whelp who burned your precious scroll, have fun tearing him to bits?’  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gods,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Scior!  I can’t go to Ganewel, alright?  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ever!</span>
  </em>
  <span>  As much as I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, I cannot leave Ardenhall.  As much as I hate it, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span> here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His frown deepened.  Whatever Kylri had just unloaded on him, there was one thing that stuck out.  “You… you hate it here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri stared at him incredulously for a moment.  “Yes,” he said defiantly.  “But unlike anywhere else right now, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span> here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of Kylri’s rant was finally catching up to him.  Scior rolled through the words again, processing every sentence.  He paused.  “You said you can’t ever go to Ganewel.  But we were just there, and you didn’t hesitate then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A breath shuddered out of Kylri’s chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut.  “When we went, I was stupid enough to think I had been gone long enough.  I’m from Ganewel, Scior, and I can’t go back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri hugged his arms around his stomach.  “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Scior.  Ganewel was so quick to go to war with us because the captain in the dungeon recognized me.  The scroll was just the breaking point.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You must be important in Ganewel, if you were recognized so easily.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A skeletal smile scratched across Kylri’s face.  “I come from an… upstanding family.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nobility?” Scior pried.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, nothing of the sort,” Kylri said.  “But I was exiled, on penalty of death.  Apparently, the death of thousands of Windemoor soldiers is also acceptable.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were exiled at the age of </span>
  <em>
    <span>eight?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I crippled somebody very important," Kylri said shortly.  "I wasn't in control of my makira, and I… I crippled him."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Like… you broke his spine, or…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri squeezed his eyes shut again, but less furious and more distressed than before.  "I really don't want to talk about it, Scior, please?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry," Scior said.  "It's not my business."  A hollow sensation flooded his chest.  At first, he wasn't sure why, but then it occurred to him that he was both helpless and in the dark.  Kylri had a past, a past that he didn't talk about.  It was clearly unpleasant enough to be considered traumatic, and it all happened before he turned eight.  Knowing was almost worse than not knowing, because now he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> there was a hurt he couldn't help.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Stop thinking about it," Kylri suggested dryly.  "It is physically painful to watch."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Kylri," Scior began.  "Um, are you… alright?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked tired, but he offered a weak smile.  "Yeah."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We should get back to breakfast," Scior said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I don't think I could eat anything," Kylri said. "You know, after…" he gestured half-heartedly to the corner of the courtyard where he had vomited.  "I think I'll just go get my book and get to my, ah, suspension classroom."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Alright," Scior said, turning back toward the dining hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And, Scior?"  Kylri shrugged hesitantly.  "I don't want you to worry about me, alright?  I'm sorry for going off on you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior shrugged back.  "Don't worry about it.  You're under stress."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's no excuse," Kylri insisted, wringing his hands together.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I said don't worry about it," Scior said.  "I'll catch you later, alright?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri nodded stiffly, looking awfully young.  He departed without a backward glance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dining hall was buzzing with chatter as it usually was, but it was somehow more subdued.  Scior took his seat across from Charlie and picked up his fork.  The thought of eating did not inspire incredible enthusiasm, but he poked the eggs around his plate to appear undisturbed.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What did I miss?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie stopped chewing on the tines of his fork and stabbed the apple sitting on his plate a few times.  "Nothing much," he said.  He abandoned the fork, still stabbed through the top of the apple.  "All the 'be prepared for the worst, and we will continue to beseech the gods for the best' bullshit."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Have you ever been to war, Charlie?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He snorted.  "No, hell, no."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior dropped his fork.  “Me, either,” he said tiredly.  “But it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if we both see our first war within the year.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He said a silent prayer that he was wrong.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Feel free to leave comments if you're interested in more chapters!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Charlie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter takes place three weeks after the last one.  In a later draft, I might fill out those three weeks.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was midnight, and Charlie was half-mounted on Nemo’s broad back when the news came.  When it did, he fell off and hit the straw-strewn earth with a heavy thud.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright?” Master Hrael asked.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie felt his lips twitch.  He considered moving away from Nemo’s restless hooves, but at the moment, getting trampled did not sound so bad.  He grinned stupidly at the ceiling.  “Just spectacular,” he said sourly.  </p><p> </p><p>“A...are you planning to get up?” the Wrangler Master prompted.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie sniffed.  “No.”</p><p> </p><p>After a moment and nearly being stepped on, Charlie sat up and leaned against the wall.  Master Hrael was gone, and the stables were empty.  It was late, too late to be working, but he had been dismissed from following curfew after his mother’s death.  Insomnia did occasionally have benefits; there was no better time to be working with Nemo.  Of course, in light of the news he had just received, he simply felt <em> lonely. </em></p><p> </p><p>He stood up, tapping his fingers on Nemo’s ribs.  She huffed, baring her teeth slightly.  The tapping turned to a soothing stroke, and she sighed, turning baleful green eyes on him.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” he said.  “But we only have three days, girly.  Three days before we ride out.  But, shh.  Nobody else knows yet.  Think you can keep a secret?”</p><p> </p><p>She snorted.  He smiled, but it felt like poison and he stopped.  “Well,” he said finally.  “We do have a bit more work today before they let me ride you out.”</p><p> </p><p>He worked with her until the sun came up.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>That morning, a notice was posted on the door of the dining hall.  Charlie barely glanced at it before elbowing his way through the crowd.  Scior met him in the dining hall, Kylri trailing behind him.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you see?” Scior asked stiffly.  His face was whitewashed.  </p><p> </p><p>“Mm,” Charlie replied.  “Glad you’re a primary now?”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe it.  I thought they said we wouldn’t have to worry.  Very small chance, they said.”</p><p> </p><p>“And now the three of us are being marched to the border and commanded to lay down and die,” Charlie finished.</p><p> </p><p>“Not so,” Master Reoghn said.  He had been gliding by, apparently minding his own business when their conversation caught his attention.  “Arkenskane is still under suspension, and will be remaining at Ardenhall with the Novices.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior’s face fell as Master Reoghn drifted away.  Charlie punched his arm affectionately.  “You’ll still have me, Commenstance.”  </p><p> </p><p>Kylri’s face remained stubbornly impassive. </p><p> </p><p>“Will you say something?” Scior pleaded.</p><p> </p><p>“And what, pray tell, would you have me say?”  Kylri snapped.  </p><p> </p><p>“Anything,” Scior said.  </p><p> </p><p>Kylri thought for a moment.  Then, sparing a humorless smile, he said, “I’m not hungry,” and stormed out of the hall.</p><p> </p><p>Scior rubbed his brow.  He looked exhausted already.  “Do you think they’ll send him out when his suspension is over?”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie shrugged, flopping into his seat.  “Do they have a choice?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior sat.  “Do you think he’s more upset that he’s staying, or that we’re going?”</p><p> </p><p>Stabbing a sausage, Charlie shrugged again.  “All these ‘do you think’ questions, Scior.  I don’t know, and I certainly do not <em> think. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>The statement had the intended effect; Scior smiled a little.  He didn’t even pick up his fork.  Charlie couldn’t blame him.  Despite his liberally applied nonchalance, he wasn’t particularly interested in eating, either.  He chewed on his sausage, noting the fact that it tasted like sawdust.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry it's been so long since I posted.</p><p>Short chapter again, but hopefully I will be posting again tomorrow.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Kylri</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Arkenskane, a word?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri didn’t look up.  His hands continued rolling bandages into tidy little cylinders as Valantine had shown him.  Since the primaries had been informed that they were marching to war, Master Coltz had set Kylri and every available novice to packing up a movable infirmary.  “Of course,” he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Lord Master sighed, leaning against the doorframe.  “I understand you must be feeling… rather a lot,” he began.  “I mean, you must be worried for your friends, and both relieved and disappointed for yourself, and… Well, that’s not the point.  I have a question for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri shrugged, sorting the rolled bandages into groups.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will you stop and look at me, please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stopped, leaning his hips against the counter and scraping his fingers across his scalp.  His hair fell back into his eyes, and he didn’t bother to brush it away.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master Reoghn has been offered a position by the High Archmage of Windemoor,” Lord Master Ashdown began.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri’s eyebrow climbed.  He was impressed.  The High Archmage was not, strictly speaking, the entire government, but he certainly had the reputation and the influence to be.  He was revered.  To be offered a position in his council was one of the highest honors in all of Windemoor.  Somehow, he doubted that the High Archmage had ever met Reoghn, and assumed he was hiring him based solely on the tales of his skill.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This means, of course, that he will be leaving Ardenhall.  You, Arkenskane, are in the… unique position to take his place.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri froze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now, give me a moment to explain,” Ashdown gushed.  “The rest of the primaries are preparing to march to war, and we have no time to choose one and put them through all the appropriate rituals.  You, however, have five weeks remaining in your suspension.  I would be willing to alter the conditions of those remaining five weeks if you agree to take the position.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri’s jaw clenched and unclenched.  He absently combed his fingers through his hair.  His brain attempted to wrap itself around the concept, but it didn’t stretch far enough.  Finally, he came up with something to say.  "I… I don't think I understand what the question is."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Will you take the position of Mage Master?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swallowed.  "I'm… I'm eighteen," he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Lord Master chuckled.  "I can promise you that you will not be the youngest to rise to a position of power before this war is over.  Do you accept?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I...I don't want to," he said feebly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You would undergo the swearing-in process, after which you would be in charge of training the novices until your suspension is over and then you will ride out to the border and take charge of the primaries."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't want to," he repeated quietly.  "There are older primaries with more experience than me, I…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's far from ordinary, of course," Ashdown continued.  "But I think with a few weeks of practice with the novices, you will have no problems with the primaries."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It doesn't sound as though I'm being given much of a choice," Kylri hesitated.  He caught himself combing his fingers through his hair again and stuffed his hands into his pockets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Master Reoghn has spoken exceptionally highly of you, Kylri," the Lord Master said gently.  "I would prefer not to, but I am not above begging you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Lord Master?  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Begging?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  It was a sight he would not mind seeing.  He chewed his lip.  "I… I don't think that's necessary, but…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"For the gods' sake, Arkenskane, just say yes."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fine."  He wasn't sure where the word came from, and was just as surprised as the look on the Lord Master's face.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>far</span>
  </em>
  <span> from fine.  What in hell had he just agreed to?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the shock melted away, a grin split Ashdown's weathered face.  "Excellent, Kylri!  Most excellent!  I will arrange the vigil and the swearing-in, and I will contact you with the details."  At Kylri's silence, he clapped his hands once and strode away from the storeroom with an undeniable bounce in his step.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri sighed, indulging once again in his habit of finger-combing his hair.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Fuck," </span>
  </em>
  <span>he mumbled.  It was too late to go backward.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first time in his life, the possibility crossed his mind.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Master Arkenskane</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hated it already.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ok so this one is also short but it's exciting!</p><p>At least to me it is...</p><p>Hope you agree!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Valantine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“E...excuse me, sir,” Valantine croaked.</p><p> </p><p>Master Coltz hardly spared him a moment’s glance.  “Can it wait, Novice Valantine?  I am a very busy man.”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine clenched his gloved hands into fists in an attempt to steel his nerves.  “I… I have a Wrangler with a suspected torsion break in her arm.  Do I have permission to perform the surgery?”</p><p> </p><p>The Physician Master looked up from scroll upon which he was documenting his inventory for the war infirmary.  “No,” he said, tucking his quill back into the inkpot.  “You are nowhere near ready for that yet.  Now, where is she?”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine nearly lifted his fingernails to his teeth before he remembered that he was wearing blood-smudged gloves and dropped them.  “Over here,” he mumbled, bowing his head and leading Master Coltz to the cot where his patient sat.  He <em> was </em>ready, he was sure of it.  There had been sixteen-year-old primaries before, and he was determined to be one of them.  Only, he was running out of time.  His seventeenth birthday four weeks away.  Besides, the primaries were marching to join the armies of Windemoor in only two days.</p><p> </p><p>Master Coltz inspected the Wrangler’s wrist with a gentle hand.  “A torsion break,” he repeated.  “An astute diagnosis, Novice Valantine, well done.  A few weeks ago, I do not believe you would have reached the correct conclusion.”</p><p> </p><p>Heart in his throat, Valantine nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“Novice Valantine?”</p><p> </p><p>“Take me to the war camp,” he blurted.</p><p> </p><p>The Physician Master finally turned to stare at him, an amalgamation of disgust, disappointment and fury on his face.  “Go take a walk,” he ordered.</p><p> </p><p>He wrenched his gloves off and tossed them onto another cot as he slunk out of the infirmary.  He hadn’t meant to say it.  Hell, he hadn’t even meant to <em> think </em>it.</p><p> </p><p>Lost in his thoughts, he nearly ran head-first into Charlie Kellrin just outside the doors.  “S...sorry,” he stuttered.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie had a nosebleed, but managed to look concerned around it.  “Hey.  What’s going on?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie frowned.  “Clearly, it’s something.  Shall we go somewhere else?”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine threw a puzzled glance over his shoulder.  “Don’t you have to…”</p><p> </p><p>Grinning recklessly, Charlie pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.  “Nah.  It was an excuse to come see you, anyways.”</p><p> </p><p>“What if they see us together?” Valantine asked timidly.  </p><p> </p><p>Stuffing the edge of the handkerchief up his nose, Charlie shrugged.  “So what?  We’re talking, not fucking each other.  Who’s going to care?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine followed Charlie across the corner of the main courtyard and into the Wrangler courtyard.  He envied Charlie’s confidence; the bemused stares of the other Wranglers made him want to disappear, but Charlie marched past them with not a second of hesitation.  The Draconian Horses in the stalls stared at him with equal and more alarming intensity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had never been to the stables before.  They were nicer than he had anticipated.  The outside walls were tiled into elaborate mosaics, but the shape of the pillars denied the misconception that there was anything delicate about the vast L-shaped building.  It was a fortress, suitably made to hold the dangerous beasts it contained.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie swept a hand toward a ladder that climbed the side of the stable.  “Up you go,” he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valantine curled his lip, eyeing the rickety structure.  “After you,” he replied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie reached the red-tiled roof in seconds, and waved for Valantine to follow.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Are you sure this is safe?”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie grinned, holding out a hand for Valantine to steady himself with.  “I’ve spent hours up here.  If it’s not safe here, I can’t think of a place that is.”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine directed a dubious glance at the roof of the stables underneath his feet, but he sat down beside Charlie anyways.  The early summer breeze toyed with his hair, carrying the scent of earth and trees with it.  He breathed it in, as much of it as his lungs would hold.  It all gushed out of him in the shape of a sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“Well?” Charlie prompted, removing the handkerchief from his nostril and shoving it back in his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>“I told Master Coltz I wanted to go to war,” he confessed.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie snorted, but stifled it at Valantine’s sour glance.  “You want to go to war?” he repeated.  “I don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine lifted his thumbnail to his mouth and gnawed at it half-heartedly.  “I don’t <em> really </em> want to go,” he amended.  “I just want to prove that I could.  I’m sick of being treated like a child.  I know what I’m doing.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can testify to that,” Charlie said amicably, stretching himself out onto his back and folding his hands behind his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Master Coltz just gives me the <em> jitters, </em>” he seethed.  “Every time he’s hovering over my shoulder, I mix up.”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie hummed, closing his eyes.  “So what are you going to do about it?”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine threw him an incredulous stare.  “What am <em> I </em> going to do about it?  What <em> can </em> I do?” he squawked.</p><p> </p><p>With a deep inhale, Charlie opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows.  “Well, it’s like this.  You’re good, James.  You could be a primary by now, easy.  No, don’t look at me like that, you could.  It’s just that the second that something doesn’t go quite right, you panic and you start doubting yourself.  Am I wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>Screwing up his mouth, Valantine shrugged.  Charlie knew what he was talking about.  He tipped his head for Charlie to continue.</p><p> </p><p>“You can keep panicking every time you don’t know something,” Charlie said passionately, “or you can learn everything there is to know, inside, outside and backward, so that you are never caught off guard.”</p><p> </p><p>The logic was infallible.  Valantine scowled at the roof tiles.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right,” he conceded eventually.  </p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Charlie said.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re insufferable,” he added.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie laughed.  “I don’t know what that means,” he said.  After a moment, he added, “Will you kiss me?”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine’s guts went cold.  “Here?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Why not?  No one is looking up.”</p><p> </p><p>He shuddered, curling in toward himself.  He couldn’t afford the chance that one single person was watching.  “I can’t,” he breathed.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie sat up.  He didn’t look <em> hurt, </em> exactly, but his striking green eyes were distant.  He turned his face away, looking out over the rooftops.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Valantine tried.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t do that,” Charlie interrupted.  “Do you think I would ask you if I didn’t want you to be allowed to say no?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well…” he floundered.</p><p> </p><p>“Forget it,” Charlie said, scrambling to his feet.  He paused beside the ladder.  “And James?  Don’t wait for me while I’m gone.”</p><p> </p><p>He disappeared over the lip of the roof, leaving Valantine feeling both better and worse than he had before.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would sell my kidney for comments.  Positives, constructive criticism, all of it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Charlie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“...and what the hell am I supposed to interpret from that? He’s just so afraid to be seen with me. I don’t get it. Did I do something wrong? Is it the age gap? What?”</p><p> </p><p>A gust of breath left Nemo’s nostrils, and Charlie stopped brushing her and pressed his forehead into her velvety shoulder. Her scent, both earthy and faintly metallic, filled the stall. He wondered if he smelled like that. It was entirely possible, considering he had spent most of his life in the stables. He peeled his face away from Nemo’s shoulder and resumed the brushing.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it the <em>smell</em>?” he asked, half joking.</p><p> </p><p>She turned her head back toward him, baring her teeth slightly. He winced.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t do that around Master Hrael,” he warned. “He’ll never let me ride you out.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about Master Hrael?” the Wrangler Master asked, leaning over the stall door. He was garbed in the loose-fitting offwhite shirt and dark brown trousers that every Wrangler wore rather than the embroidered jacket he usually wore.  </p><p> </p><p>Charlie jumped a little, but caught himself before he looked too much like an idiot. “Nothing,” he said quickly.</p><p> </p><p>Master Hrael smiled briefly. “When you’re finished, do you think we could have a chat in my office?”</p><p> </p><p>"That," Charlie said shortly, "is never a good question. Why don't you save me the stress of thinking about it and tell me what I did wrong?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, nothing, nothing," Master Hrael dismissed, waving a hand. "Just a little proposition I wanted to make."</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t like proposals,” Charlie said, but he hung up the brush on a nail on the wall and slung himself over the door of the stall. He never opened the door if he could help it. At first, there had been too much risk of Nemo bolting, but now he simply could not be bothered to fiddle with the latch.</p><p> </p><p>Master Coltz swept an arm toward the end of the stables, where a horse stall had been modified to create a small office. Charlie raised a dubious eyebrow and stepped into the office. There was a desk and a chair that clearly belonged to Master Coltz, and a small stool on the opposing side of the desk.  </p><p> </p><p>“Sit,” Master Coltz said, doing just that.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie pulled the stool away from the desk with his foot and started to lower himself onto the seat.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, as you know, when your mother died…”</p><p> </p><p>Not having quite sat down yet, Charlie reversed direction and stood again. “No,” he interrupted. “Not that conversation.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, Charlie, just listen to me.”</p><p> </p><p>His lip curled into a snarl. He wanted to speak, to scream at Master Hrael, but his throat had gone dry. Curling his hand around the doorknob, he lifted a threatening eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“When she died, you were supposed to take her place as Master of the Wrangler class, only you didn’t want it.”</p><p> </p><p>A huff of disbelief left Charlie’s mouth, leaving a sardonic sneer of a smile in its wake. “I was grieving. I didn’t want anything. I wanted to die.”</p><p> </p><p>“I understand that,” Master Hrael soothed. “But it’s been almost two years.”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie let go of the doorknob and leaned against the closed door, folding his arms across his chest. “Clearly, you have a point here somewhere. Save me the time and get to it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Our profession is not the gentlest,” Master Hrael said. “I am forty-six years old, Charlie, and I feel like I am eighty. I cannot do this for much longer, and I would like for you to take your rightful place as your mother’s scion, as the Master of the Wrangler class.”</p><p> </p><p><em>His mother’s scion</em>. Charlie closed his eyes. It was the first time since her death that he had heard such a thing. He had spent his entire life hearing that he was his father’s son, his father’s heir, and that he should have taken the Lord Master position like his father and his father’s father before him. When he opened his eyes, he was taken aback by the slight blurring of his vision. The feeling didn’t last long when he saw Master Hrael’s self-satisfied half smile.</p><p> </p><p>“You can stuff your propaganda up your ass,” Charlie informed him stiffly. “I am not my father’s son, or my mother’s. I am myself, and that is all there is.”</p><p> </p><p>Master Hrael looked slightly confused. “Er… well, alright. Will you do it?”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie snorted, but his brain was doing the math. “Does that mean I would stay here and teach the novices instead of marching to war?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, no,” Master Hrael said. “Normally, that would be the case, but I have discussed it with the Lord Master, you see. This war is creating many extenuating circumstances, and we have agreed that in this instance, I would remain here and teach the novices while you ride with the primaries. The Wrangler primaries need a little extra confidence, and we think that if we had the title marching out with them, it would be a rallying point, a… what is it?”</p><p> </p><p>He sank half-heartedly onto the seat of the stool. “That was a lot of big words,” he said. “But you’re saying-- and correct me if I’m wrong-- that I am going to be a tool? To provide what, <em>confidence</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well now, Charlie, that’s not…”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, it is. It is.”</p><p> </p><p>“You are a legend, Charlie. No one would hesitate to follow you if you had the title.”</p><p> </p><p>“And if I didn’t have it?” Charlie asked, a little too loudly. “You think they would hesitate then?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Master Hrael said frankly. “It’s nothing personal, but people will always hesitate to fall in behind a… don’t take this wrong, but, a nobody.”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie smiled ferally. “Very nice,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you understand the gravity of this war? Our trade relations with Ganewel are priceless. Our situation is very weighty, very weighty indeed.”</p><p> </p><p>“I understand very well, thank you,” Charlie said starkly. “I accept your, ah, proposition, but I have conditions.”</p><p> </p><p>Master Hrael considered this, scratching his short beard with his thumbnail. “I would be willing to hear your conditions,” he decided.</p><p> </p><p>Charlie leaned forward, rooting his elbows onto his knees. “First,” he said, “I am Master in title only. Teaching and organization is still your job. Second, my mother’s remains are removed from the Archives and burned, as she wanted.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” the Wrangler Master mused. “I think that is quite agreeable, as long as you are willing to participate in your vigil tomorrow night and your swearing-in ceremony the morning after.”</p><p> </p><p>After a moment of calculating, Charlie frowned. “That makes the swearing ceremony the same day that we leave.”</p><p> </p><p>“It is a bit rushed, I grant,” Master Hrael said. “But we haven’t much else in the way of choices.”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever, then,” Charlie said, straightening on his stool. “Will that be all?”</p><p> </p><p>“You cannot tell anyone until you are presented as the Master of the Wrangler class.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, naturally,” Charlie replied. “Wouldn’t want to be killed in my sleep out of jealousy. Now, is that all?”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Charlie, that will be all. Have a good night.”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie left the stables promptly, hardly stopping to kiss Nemo goodnight as he always did. He had a lot on his mind. The cool air of the courtyard softened the dull, persistent ache in his head. He tilted his head back, taking in the pale network of stars. They had been more beautiful before; the heavy gold globe of the moon stole some of their miraculousness, although it was beautiful in its own right.</p><p> </p><p>A quiet whistle hit his ears, and he followed it to the roof of the stables. The ladder wobbled familiarly under his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing up here?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>Valantine had the gall to look startled by Charlie’s arrival. The open book fell out of his lap. “Oh, Charlie,” he murmured, scooping the book back up and snapping it shut.  </p><p> </p><p>Charlie picked his way across the roof and settled himself down beside the leaning pile of books Valantine had apparently brought up with him. “How did you get all of these up here by yourself?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>Valantine fixed him with a look. “Precariously,” he said.  </p><p> </p><p>That brought a laugh to Charlie’s mouth. “What are you reading?”</p><p> </p><p>The cover of the book was embossed with golden vines curled around a lit torch. Charlie recognized it as the Physician’s symbol. “I thought about what you said,” Valantine said carefully. “I’m studying up on… well, on everything.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad you thought about it,” Charlie replied quietly, leaning back to stare at the moon. </p><p> </p><p>Valantine inhaled sharply like he was about to say something, but he stalled and set aside his book. “I… I thought about the other thing you said, too. About waiting for you while you were gone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” He had regretted saying it, just a little bit. He glanced sideways at Valantine, who was very deliberately looking off into the distance.</p><p> </p><p>“Hear me out,” Valantine began. “I think I… Maybe I don’t… Hold on.”</p><p> </p><p>Amusement played at Charlie’s lips. “Take your time,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to take my time,” Valantine blurted. “I’ve been such a fool. I’m keeping you like one of my secrets, and that isn’t fair.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wa...wait,” Charlie interrupted. “<em>One of your secrets?</em> How many do you have?”</p><p> </p><p>“A few,” Valantine said meekly. “But that isn’t the point. You deserve to know why I’m… why I don’t want to tell anyone about us.”</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t help himself. A laugh burst out of him. “Is it the smell?”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine threw him a strange look. “The… smell?”</p><p> </p><p>“Never mind. I’m sorry, you were saying…?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not that I don’t like you,” Valantine said. “I really do. I just don’t want people to think that I… that I’m distracted from my work, or that I’m using you to get status or something. I think the Masters already think I’m in the wrong class, and I don’t want…”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine trailed off before Charlie asked, “Why would they think you’re in the wrong class? Where do they think you should be?”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine sniffed, shrugging. “That’s one of my secrets.”</p><p> </p><p>Charlie shoved Valantine’s shoulder. “My man of mystery,” he joked.</p><p> </p><p>A smile made a brief appearance on Valantine’s face. “I promise you I’ll wait for you,” he said seriously.  </p><p> </p><p>“Nah,” Charlie began, but Valantine seized his shirt laces and pulled him closer.  </p><p> </p><p>“Promise me that you’ll come back,” he pleaded, his eyes wide.  </p><p> </p><p>“I will,” Charlie said, covering Valantine’s hand with his own.  </p><p> </p><p>“Promise me,” he repeated desperately.</p><p> </p><p>“I… I can’t promise that, and you know it.”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine took a shuddering breath. “I don’t ever want to live without you.”</p><p> </p><p>It was as close as Valantine had ever come to confessing love. Charlie’s breath caught in his throat. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.</p><p> </p><p>Valantine pulled Charlie closer to him by the laces of his shirt and pressed an urgent kiss to his lips.  </p><p> </p><p>“Whoa,” Charlie said, breaking away but not pulling away very far. He made a growling noise in his throat, and Valantine laughed.</p><p> </p><p>“We aren’t doing more than this,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s alright,” Charlie replied. His voice was unexpectedly hoarse. He cradled the back of Valantine’s neck and pulled him back in.</p><p> </p><p><em>We aren’t doing more than this,</em> Valantine’s voice repeated in his head, as Valantine’s hand crept toward his groin. Charlie was lost in the taste of his lips. “<em>Fuck</em>,” he murmured, as Valantine’s teeth closed around his lower lip.</p><p> </p><p>Then Valantine pulled away, both of them panting. Valantine’s dark eyes glittered in the moonlight.  </p><p> </p><p>“Is it alright if that never happened?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“You got it,” Charlie agreed. His elbows stopped supporting him and he collapsed onto his back. “Oh, gods, James, you make a man weak.”</p><p> </p><p>“And it’s entirely deliberate,” Valantine replied with an air of pompousness, sitting up very straight.  </p><p> </p><p>Charlie caught his breath before speaking again. “Why did you choose to come here to study?”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine laid down beside Charlie, folding his hands over his belly. "I think you know why."</p><p> </p><p>He didn't. Propping himself up on one elbow, he raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten me."</p><p> </p><p>"Well, I was thinking about you," Valantine said, blinking. "Besides which, it seemed the only natural choice where I wouldn't keep my roommates awake."</p><p> </p><p>"The library is always open," Charlie pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>Valantine eyed him mildly. "It's a nice night." Charlie's suspicious gaze seemed to soften him and he slouched forward with a sigh. "I hoped you would be here. I wanted to see you, to tell you why."</p><p> </p><p>Charlie breathed in deeply, taking in the scents carried on the near midnight breeze. "Thank you for telling me."</p><p> </p><p>"We should get to bed," Valantine said finally.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll help you get your books down the ladder," Charlie agreed, throwing Valantine a wicked grin. "Oh, and James? I'm more than happy to keep being one of your secrets."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I promise all the goodies in the tags are coming, just keep holding out and I promise it won't be too long!  Just had to write a little more Kellrantine fluff first...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Scior</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scior woke up and immediately regretted it.  The sun burned his eyes, which meant he had overslept.  He noticed that his roommates had not bothered to wake him up, and they were all sitting on their respective bunks, chattering loudly.  He wasn’t sure how he had slept through it.</p><p> </p><p>“Look who’s awake,” Darien announced, tossing a boot at Scior.  Scior caught it and threw it back as he sat up.  His head ached abominably.</p><p> </p><p>It came back to him then.  They had one more night here, and they would need all the sleep they could get for the long march to the southwest quarter of the border.  That had left the previous night as their last chance to celebrate being alive, and celebrate they had.  Several empty wine bottles rolled around the floor, and at least one pillow had been ripped open, strewing feathers everywhere.</p><p> </p><p>“Lightweight,” Mallius joked, stuffing a fistful of feathers down the back of Darien’s shirt.  Darien squawked and threw a casual punch at Mallius, who dodged it.</p><p> </p><p>“To be fair, he did drink most of a bottle by himself,” Evan pointed out.  </p><p> </p><p>“What time is it?” Scior croaked.</p><p> </p><p>“You missed breakfast,” Darien said.  “I would tell you Master Delcry was displeased, but I’m not sure he noticed.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior groaned, scrubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes.  “Thanks for waking me,” he said acidly.  “Now I’m hungry.”</p><p> </p><p>Evan withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to Scior.  Scior tentatively unfolded it and was rewarded with two slices of buttered bread.  </p><p> </p><p>“Blessings on you, Evan,” he groaned, biting into the first slice of bread.  It was thick and still slightly warm, and it tasted like heaven.  His headache eased somewhat as he ate.  After breakfast tomorrow, he wasn’t sure he would be eating fresh bread again, and certainly not butter, for a long, long time.  He made sure to savor every bite. </p><p> </p><p>“We have the morning to pack a bag and get all our laughs,” Darien said, plucking feathers out of his shirt.  “After lunch, we’ll be drilled hard. Supper will be an hour early, and afterward we will be drilled until there is no light to see by and then we will go to bed and instantly fall asleep so we are well-rested in the morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Riveting,” Scior muttered.  “Gods, how much did I drink last night?”</p><p> </p><p>“A lot,” said Mallius.  </p><p> </p><p>“I’m surprised you didn’t throw up,” Darien added.  “Grateful, but surprised.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior threw one of his own boots at Darien and stood up to pack a bag.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>At lunch, Scior found Charlie and Kylri, who were elbow-deep in hushed conversation.  They stopped abruptly when Scior sat down.  He raised his eyebrows, awaiting an explanation, but Kylri looked away and Charlie distracted himself with cutting up his meat.  His appetite suddenly dissipated, and he picked up his fork just to drop it on his plate with a clatter.</p><p> </p><p>“Where, uh, where were you this morning?” Kylri asked, studiously returning his attention to the sliced loaf of bread on the table between them.</p><p> </p><p>“Sleeping off a hangover,” Scior said stiffly.  “What were you two talking about?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm,” Charlie said around a mouthful of cold venison.  “We were talking about the march.  Kylri said they’re sending him out when his suspension is over, so…”</p><p> </p><p>“And why did you stop when I got here?”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri brushed his hair away from his forehead.  “I didn’t think you’d want to talk about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not for you to decide,” Scior replied hotly.  </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I didn’t really want to talk about it anymore, either,” Kylri replied.  He shared an awkward glance with Charlie and went about butchering an apple and eating the slices directly off his knife.</p><p> </p><p>James Valantine joined them shortly, sitting beside Charlie.  He was a little paler than usual, but his mouth was set into a stoic smile.  “So, so,” he said.  “All ready for tomorrow?”</p><p> </p><p>Scior glared at Kylri.  “Apparently, we already had this conversation and don’t want to have it again.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri looked up, his mismatched eyes seething.  “Look, I don’t want to fight about it, Scior.  If you want to talk about it, I don’t care.  We can absolutely talk about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine turned to Charlie.  “Whoa,” he said, and Charlie nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever,” Scior said.  “I’m sorry, I just don’t feel well.  I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”</p><p> </p><p>Valantine perked up.  “You’re not feeling well?  Are you ill?  I can see about getting you held back if you are.  You shouldn’t be marching if you’re sick.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior waved away his concern.  “I’m fine, Val, just hung over and not looking forward to being drilled within an inch of my life for the rest of the day.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I know,” Charlie agreed.  “It’s all well and good for the Masters to work us that hard, but they don’t have to spend all of tomorrow marching.”</p><p> </p><p>“At least you get a horse,” Scior pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>Valantine looked puzzled.  “The Masters don’t all go?  Master Coltz is going.”</p><p> </p><p>“The Physician class is a little different,” Scior said.  “The injuries out there are gonna need all the attention they can get, and Master Coltz has the experience to deal with some of the uglier ones.  For classes like the Warriors and the Mages, it makes more sense to have the Masters stay here and keep training the novices.”</p><p> </p><p>Kylri and Charlie shared another strange look.  Scior thought Kylri looked a little guilty, and Charlie a little smug.</p><p> </p><p>Before he had the chance to ask them about it, the bells rang to announce the end of the lunch break, and the cacophony of chairs being pushed across stone became deafening.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Kylri said, catching Scior’s wrist as he went to collect his sword from where he had propped it against the table.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?” Scior hummed.</p><p> </p><p>Kylri pulled him into a firm, brief embrace.  “I don’t know how much chance I’ll have to see you before you go.  Be safe, alright?  I expect to see you in four and a half weeks when I come join the army.”</p><p> </p><p>Scior, still stunned by the display of affection, nodded dumbly.</p><p> </p><p>“If I don’t get a chance to say it later,” Kylri began, and faltered.  “Just… Thank you for being my friend, Scior Commenstance.  I will never forget it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Kylri</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As he had been instructed, Kylri met Charlie and Lord Master Ashdown just outside the Hall of Masters just before supper time. The Lord Master looked them over and nodded approvingly, opening the door to the Hall of Masters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to go over the expectations with you two before you begin your vigil,” he said, taking his seat at the head of the table.  “Please, sit.  These chairs will be yours soon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They did as they were told.  Kylri’s heart seemed to be clogging his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now, Kellrin, you will still be marching out tomorrow, but Arkenskane, you will be departing when your suspension is over.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri lifted his fingers.  “I have a question.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead,” Ashdown prompted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are we going?  I thought the Masters stayed behind with the novices.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Wranglers need inspiration on the battlefield, and Charlie will be providing that.  You, on the other hand…  Now, this cannot be shared, do you understand?  Ganewel’s military has developed an alarmingly effective sector of Mages.  By the time you are leaving, we hope to be able to send out a number of novices with you.  All of them, if we can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stunned, Kylri shook his head.  “Some of them are as young as ten years old.  Against Ganewel’s Mages?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have to see what the situation is when we get there,” the Lord Master soothed.  “In the meantime, let’s instate you both as the Masters of your classes.  You will hold a silent vigil in the Chapel of the Gods until sunrise, at which point I will fetch you myself and present you to the students of Ardenhall.  Is this agreeable?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Charlie said.  He was quieter than usual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When you enter the Chapel of the Gods, your silence begins.  You will enter and walk to the far end, where you will bow to the god or goddess of your class, and then you will sit and reflect, pray, whatever strikes you.  Do not fall asleep, speak or attempt to communicate with one another.  Is this understood?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri and Charlie both nodded, but neither spoke this time.  It was as though the silence of their vigil had already begun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very good,” the Lord Master said, rising to his feet.  “Then you have until sundown to bathe yourselves, dress in clean clothing and meet me in front of the Chapel of the Gods.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri returned to the Mage barracks and collected a clean black tunic, black trousers and a set of dark blue robes.  Then he made his way to the bathhouse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was half expecting to see Charlie there, but he didn’t.  Not that he minded.  He had never been one to refuse a little privacy, especially when it came to bathing.  He leaned over and turned on the taps.  The plumbing was a newer development in Windemoor, but it was as familiar as breathing to Kylri.  The first eight years of his life had been spent living with such luxury.  He stood for a moment, watching the sunken tub fill with water.  Then, realizing that his privacy might not last, he gritted his teeth and stripped off his blue linen tunic and his breeches.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shut off the water and hesitated again, shivering despite the steam rising off the water in the bathtub.  His fingers circled the small, round scar on his stomach.  It was an old wound, and an old habit that he had worked very hard to break.  Nonetheless, it was soothing now, and he didn’t even try to stop himself.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just get in the godsdamned bath,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he told himself.  Before the small, terrified part of his brain could argue, he removed his smallclothes and lowered himself into the water.  The heat was comforting, at least.  He could recall, as clearly as if it had been yesterday, the sensation of cold water filling his mouth and nose and lungs.  The recollection made him cough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the steeply sloped edges of the bath.  He was safe here, he reminded himself.  The bathhouse scarred into his memory had been tiled in green and gold, not white and blue.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get a grip,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he commanded himself, scowling at the ceiling.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>That was ten years ago.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He fumbled a bar of soap into the tub with him, scrubbing at his skin.  The soap was made with sandalwood and sand, and the grit of it felt blissful.  He closed his eyes again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After cleaning himself thoroughly, he lifted himself out of the water and drained the tub.  He dried himself on a clean towel and dressed in his more formal clothing.  The flowy robes were irksome at best, but he was obligated to appear dignified.  He was fairly certain he wouldn’t have to wear them to war, and that was all he could veritably ask for,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie chose that moment to enter the bathhouse, his arms full of clothing.  Kylri watched him with slight amusement, settling himself onto one of the benches pressed against the wall.  Charlie dropped all his clothes into a heap and fumbled with the taps of the bath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri spat on the toe of his boot and rubbed it into the leather with the edge of the blue tunic he was not wearing.  Charlie looked up like he had been struck by lightning, but eased when he realized it was Kylri.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gods,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw.  “Scared me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Kylri said, even though he wasn’t.  He shook some of the water out of his hair and pulled on his boot.  Then he administered the same treatment to his other boot before putting it on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie stripped off his shirt and his boots.  “I’m going to end up being late,” he grumbled.  “I lost track of the time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What were you doing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seemingly unconsciously, Charlie rubbed his thumb over his lips.  “I was talking to… ah, to someone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Talking,” Kylri repeated.  He had never seen Charlie so flustered.  It was almost funny.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie ignored him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it,” Kylri said, gathering his armload of clothes.  “I’ll see you there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Charlie said distractedly, trying to sort out his clothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he left the bathhouse, he was struck by a wave of chilly late-afternoon air.  He located the sun in the sky and hoped for Charlie’s sake that he was a quick bather.  </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie did arrive on time, although barely.  His shirt laces were tangled and his hair a damp mess.  Kylri would not normally have cared much, but Charlie was usually pristinely dressed, to the point of vanity.  Something was clearly bothering him, so Kylri decided to help him straighten his shirt laces.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Charlie said quietly, tossing a hand through his hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Kylri replied mildly.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Chapel of the Gods was tucked in behind the Main Hall.  It was a small, simply-shaped building, but the exterior was ornately decorated with gems and seashells.  Kylri didn’t quite understand the significance of the seashells, but it did make for quite a spectacle, especially so far away from the sea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lord Master Ashdown arrived, dressed in the elaborate multicolored robe that was meant for special occasions.  “Gentlemen,” he said in a reverent tone, “are you prepared for this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri couldn’t speak, so he nodded instead.  Beside him, Charlie did the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashdown nodded solemnly, opening a small vial of oil and daubing a bit on Kylri’s forehead, and then Charlie’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good luck,” he said.  “Your vigil begins now.”  He opened the door to the Chapel and let them in, closing it behind them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The chapel was spacious and echoey. Wide benches faced the far end of the room.  The cielings arched breathtakingly high above them, supported by heavy slabs of wood curving up the walls and beyond.  The walls were patterned with tall, narrow windows with rich black curtains that looked so serious no light dared seep through them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the front of the hall, a raised stage held five tall marble statues that represented the gods and goddesses that were honored in Ardenhall.  Facing the statues, the one on the left was a fair young woman with hair pulled atop her head and a shapely figure.  She wore a simple sleeveless dress and held in her outstretched right palm a flower.  She was Seddana, goddess of health and wellbeing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beside her was a man that would have been handsome if not for the ropy scar cutting starkly across his right cheek, through his full lips and to the left side of his chin.  He wore plate armor not dissimilar to what the Warrior Class wore in times of war.  He held his sword in his hand, its tip resting on the ground.  This was Hov, god of strength.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The statue in the center was a beautiful woman, her colorless marble hair coiled over her shoulder.  She, too, wore a simple sleeveless dress and in her outstretched right palm rested a carved flame.  She was Cjevha, goddess of magic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To the right of Cjevha was a man with a sturdy physique and a slightly brutish but not ugly face.  He wore his hair short and sported a plain tunic belted at his waist.  His hand was outstretched like the rest of the marble effigies, but unlike the rest he held nothing.  He was Sanva, god of animals.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last statue was a man who appeared more aged than the rest.  He wore a vest laced over a tunic and a glove on his reaching hand, in which he held a single arrow.  He had a wise face.  This last one was Izukin, god of aim and direction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri’s footsteps echoed slightly as he made his way to the raised dais.  He paused, taking in the beautiful marble face of Cjevha.  The stone seemed to glow from within.  He averted his eyes and bowed stiffly, probably not deeply enough to be considered respectful.  Then he slid onto the bench in the front left side of the room and bowed his head.  Charlie echoed his movements, bowing to Sanva, and taking a seat on the front right side of the Chapel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stillness came upon the room.  Kylri wished that it was peaceful, and spent too long trying to quiet his mind.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Charlie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Light flooded the Chapel of the Gods from the door at the back.  After getting lost in his thoughts, it startled Charlie.  He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the brightness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come,” the Lord Master said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie stood up, silently cursing and stretching out the stiffness in his joints.  He was too young to be sore.  Air filled his lungs; it felt like the first deep breath he had taken all night.  He had spent the time thinking, probably not about things that the Lord Master would approve of.  Fortunately, the Lord Master didn’t have to know his thoughts.  Then again, he could imagine Ashdown’s face if he knew, and it was horribly entertaining.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the other side of the aisle, Kylri had finally begun to move, as stiffly as Charlie felt.  No surprise, really; he had been as still as the marble effigies watching over them all night.  Charlie wondered what he had been thinking about, but quickly brushed the curiosity aside when Kylri met his eyes for a fraction of a second.  There was something dark and furious behind the blue and grey of Kylri’s irises, and Charlie had spent enough time in front of a mirror after his mother’s passing to recognize it.  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kylri had been thinking about death.  He would have bet on it, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> bet on anything that he was not certain he would win.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stepped out into the glaring orange rays of the sunrise, both blinking owlishly.  The Lord Master looked far too amused, and Charlie silently cursed him, too.  He had gone a night without sleep and without supper, and it made him irritable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will present you to the students before breakfast,” Lord Master Ashdown informed them as they made their way toward the Main Hall and specifically, to the Hall of Masters.  “That way, Kellrin, you will be able to eat before you march out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>March out.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  A sick feeling curled up in his belly.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to eat anymore.  It was a strange sensation, and the confusion of it irritated him further.  He had </span>
  <em>
    <span>known</span>
  </em>
  <span> that they were going to war, but it must not have sunk in yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Masters Hrael and Reoghn are not in their seats at the Master’s table.  In fact, Master Reoghn left for Imidigan last night already.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri gave a disbelieving little huff.  The Lord Master ignored him and plowed on.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Their absence will raise some questions, I do not doubt.  I will go in and make a little speech, and then I will wave you in.  I would like Kellrin to come first, we will have you swear your allegiance to Sanva and to the Wrangler class.  Then I will wave you in, Arkenskane, and we will have you swear allegiance to Cjevha and the Mage class.  I expect there may be some uproar, but we will handle that as it comes.  Here we are.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Hall of Masters had not changed, which was not much of a surprise, either.  Lord Master Ashdown waved them to take their seats and floated to the door to check if the dining hall had begun to fill.  Charlie did as he was bidden, taking a seat in the chair carved with Draconian horses; he wasn’t entirely convinced that his legs would support him anymore.  Kylri dubiously eyed the flame-carved chair and perched on the edge of the table instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re taking their seats,” Ashdown announced, turning back toward them.  He smiled approvingly at Charlie.  “And I see you are as well, Master Kellrin.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Master Kellrin.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He suddenly felt like a god.  The wood of the armrests was solid, grounding under his hands.  If it hadn’t been, he might have floated away.  He hoped the smile he replied with was at least a little pleasant.  He had been told that when he smiled, he looked feral.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Lord Master peeked into the dining hall once again.  “Just another moment as the stragglers find their seats,” he said over his shoulder.  “Kellrin, I’ll have you come stand by the door when I go out so you can see when I summon you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie nodded wordlessly, and the Lord Master clapped his hands once in apparent approval.  “Are you both ready?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glanced at Kylri, who returned the look.  He shrugged, and Kylri echoed that too, and they both nodded to the Lord Master, who shook his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You might wish to exercise your voices before you stand in front of all those students and vow your allegiance to them,” he said.  “Master Lark didn’t, and he croaked his way through the entire thing.  It was rather entertaining.”  At that, he nodded once more and strode out into the dining hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the mention of standing in front of all the students, Kylri had gone pale.  “They’re gonna hate me,” he rasped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rising from his chair, Charlie tilted his head.  “I doubt it,” he said.  “I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>like you, and I don’t really like anyone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri scraped his fingertips across his scalp.  “I really don’t think you’re as ornery as you like to pretend."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie raised an eyebrow, taking his place by the door, where he could see Lord Master Ashdown trying to call a hush over the dining hall.  “I don’t know what that means,” he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Kylri’s turn to raise an eyebrow.  “I don’t think you’re as dumb as you pretend to be, either.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tried not to react.  Kylri wasn't totally wrong there, either.  “What makes you say that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Kylri could respond, the Lord Master began to speak.  “You have undoubtedly noticed the absences of Masters Reoghn and Hrael.  It is with great regret that I must inform you that they have abdicated their positions.  However--” he paused to let the shocked buzz die down before continuing-- “it is with great pleasure that I introduce the new Masters of the Wrangler and Mage classes.  Please join me first in welcoming Master Charles Victus Kellrin III of the Wrangler class!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a final glance over his shoulder at Kylri, Charlie left the Hall of Masters and entered the applause-saturated dining hall.  He supposed he should smile, but he didn’t.  When he reached the center of the dais, the Lord Master grasped his hand and shook it firmly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once the applause had died, the Lord Master turned Charlie toward the audience.  “Do you, Charles Kellrin III, vow to serve the god Sanva to the best of your ability as the head of the Wrangler Class?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had located Scior in the crowd, sitting beside Valantine in their usual spot in the back.  Even at that distance, he could see the calculating frown on Scior’s face.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do,” he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And do you vow to uphold the values of Ardenhall for as long as you shall live?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Loyalty, Education, Religion and Honesty.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Honesty.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Across the dining hall, he could almost feel the heat of Valantine’s fury.  Why he was angry, Charlie was not quite sure, but he was certain that the wrath would later be directed at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do,” he said, and watched Valantine storm out of the dining hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you vow to love and respect the members of the Wrangler class, as you receive love and respect from them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then congratulations, Master Kellrin,” the Lord Master said, shaking his hand again and beaming, “the Warrior Class is yours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Applause rose from the audience.  Charlie supposed they were only clapping out of obligation, but he didn’t mind.  He did not typically expect people to love him, but experience had taught him that he could always command their respect.  He bowed his head and took the empty seat where Master Hrael usually sat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now for the Mage Class,” Lord Master Ashdown said.  His smile suddenly appeared a bit forced.  “Let us welcome Master Kylri Arkenskane of the Mage Class!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri lurched to the center of the stage.  He looked sick.  Charlie looked back to Scior, whose focused frown had melted into shock.  The applause was scattered and weak, and mostly drowned in cries of outrage from a large portion of the Mage class.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now, now,” the Lord Master called, holding his hands out in an attempt to calm the fury.  “Master Arkenskane has been called by the gods to serve the Mage class.  Are any of us in a position to deny the gods?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charlie snorted quietly, hoping no one was watching him.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Called by the gods.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Bullshit.  The gods only called on people when they wanted something.  Besides, if his memory served him correctly, Kylri did not much care for the gods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dining hall had finally quieted, and the Lord Master continued.  “Do you, Kylri Arkenskane, vow to serve the goddess Cjevha to the best of your ability as the head of the Mage class?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri opened his mouth, then closed it.  He hesitated for a moment, and nodded.  “I do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the back of the hall, Scior’s gaze had turned very intense.  His lips were pressed together so tightly it looked painful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And do you vow to uphold the values of Ardenhall for as long as you shall live?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hesitated again, probably wondering if his aversion to religion would become an obstacle.  “I do,” he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Speak up,” the Lord Master whispered to him, then continued.  “Do you vow to love and respect the members of the Mage class, as you receive love and respect from them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri’s lips twisted into a wry smile.  “I don’t think they'll love and respect me much,” he said quietly, then raised his voice and said, “I do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then congratulations, Master Arkenskane,” Lord Master Ashdown said, shaking Kylri’s hand,  “the Mage class is yours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri nodded his head stiffly and took the seat that had always been occupied by Master Reoghn.  The applause was a little bit warmer than it had been before, but still scattered.  Charlie noted the cadence of Scior’s clapping and marked it as sarcastic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know most of you will not understand,” the Lord Master said, “but we believe that this is right, whether or not it is unconventional.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie caught Kylri’s eye and mouthed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know what that means.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Kylri’s thin smile made Marksman Master Lark’s disapproving glare worth enduring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now,” the Lord Master said, clapping his hands for emphasis.  “The march to the southwest border is long.  Dig in!  It may be some time before you feast so richly again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <span>If ever,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Charlie thought morbidly, and stabbed a sausage with his fork.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Scior</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He was supposed to be collecting his bag from the barracks and meeting in the main courtyard, but instead, Scior elbowed his way through the river of primaries and novices until he found himself face to face with Kylri.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master Arkenskane,” he said acidly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri visibly flinched.  “Please, don’t,” he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” He didn’t wait for a response.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri wouldn’t meet his eyes.  “I would have, Scior, I swear it.  I wasn’t allowed to.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you could tell Charlie,” Scior said after a moment.  “That’s what you were talking about at lunch yesterday, wasn’t it?”  He shook his head in disbelief.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He told me,” Kylri admitted.  “I told him I didn’t want to talk about it, but…” he trailed off, scraping his fingers through his hair.  “I really am sorry, Scior.  I hated keeping it from you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior struggled to find words for a moment.  “Does… does that mean you aren’t marching out after your suspension, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am, still,” Kylri said.  “Charlie is, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you’re the Mage Master,” Scior argued.  It didn’t add up at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri looked pained.  “I know.  I can’t explain that, either, as much as I would love to.  If it was up to me, everyone would know.  It’s not something that should be left as a surprise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior held up his hands.  “What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took him by surprise when Kylri seized the front of his leather vest.  He tried to pull away, a motion born of reflex, but Kylri held him fast.  “Listen,” he hissed.  “Ganewel’s military has upgraded.  You can expect a lot of makira being thrown around.  Stay away from it as much as possible, please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Makira didn’t scare Scior as much as it should, he reckoned.  He had spent enough time around Kylri that he was used to it.  Clearly, Kylri could see his lack of concern and released the front of his vest with a disgusted snort.  “They aren’t like me, Scior.  They don’t have the same control, and they will not hesitate to hurt you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you know?” Scior asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri met Scior’s eyes with a level kind of irritation.  “Where am I from, Scior?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scior coughed.  “Ganewel,” he said quietly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Kylri said.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you were eight,” Scior protested.  “I didn’t think you would know so much about…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I do,” Kylri interrupted.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Commenstance, what are you still doing here?” the Lord Master asked, making shooing motions with his hands.  “You’re supposed to be getting ready to go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir,” Scior said, meeting Kylri’s eyes squarely.  “Master Arkenskane,” he added, bowing his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Kylri said, pulling Scior into another embrace.  He lowered his voice for Scior’s ears only.  “I will see you in four and a half weeks, alright?  Think about what I said.”  He pulled away and gave Scior’s shoulder a firm clap.  </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes later, Scior was standing in the Main Courtyard between Darien and Evan, all of them clad in an amalgamation of chainmail, leather and linen, listening to the Lord Master’s farewell speech.  He couldn’t hear it very well over the ringing in his ears, but judging by Darien’s expression, it was not particularly inspiring. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“May the gods bless you and keep you well,” the Lord Master said.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I doubt it,” Darien whispered.  “I’ll bet the gods let half of us die within a week.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” Evan scolded.  “That’s sacrilege, Darien.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kylri’s warning was starting to sink in.  Scior shook his head.  “I don’t know, Evan,” he said, as they began to march, “is it sacrilege if it’s true?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
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